



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 






























INUNDATION IN INDIA. 


See p. 35S 








4 



|§ 


13 Y 


S . G. GOODRICH, 

Author of Peter Parley's Tales, etc. 

















* 

































PETER PARLEY’S 

KALEIDOSCOPE, 

on 

PARLOR PLEASURE BOOK; 

CONSISTING OK 


GLEANINGS FROM MANY FIELDS OF TIIE CURIOUS, THE BEAUTIFUL, 

AND TIIE WONDERFUL. 




BY Sf GY GOODRICH. 


Illustrate!) Irn Due Jjuu&rcl) (jEitgrairinp, 

FROM ORIGINAL DRAWINGS. 


> » * 
> > 



NEW YORK: 

PUBLISHED BY J. S. BROWN AND COMPANY, 

ctf’ 


No. 22 FRANKFORT STREET. 


MDCCCLYIII. 

No. I. 




(/ 


i' (Pc.-y^ /j’./fy? 
































<gri 


PREFACE. 


JOI 










IP 


$ 


S we have given a double, nay, a treble, title 
to our book, a preface might seem superfluous. 

Nevertheless, we beg the Gentle Reader’s ear for 
a few words of suggestion and explanation. 

The giving and receiving of presents has been 
an honored custom from the earliest periods of his¬ 
tory. The Queen of Sheba gave King Solomon “ a 
hundred and twenty talents of gold, and of spices 
very great store, and precious stones.” Haroun 
al Raschid sent Charlemagne a musical clock 
and the keys of the Holy Sepulchre. Al Mamoun 
showered a thousand princely pearls on the head of 
his bride. Montezuma gave Cortez stuffs of fine 
cotton, pictures in feathers, gold and silver plates 
representing the sun and moon, bracelets, and other costly things. Samoset, of the 
Wampanoags, and Gov. Carver, “ exchanged gifts ” at their first interview. Wo 
might fill volumes in recounting amenities of this kind, which have passed between 
the celebrities of history. 

It is not astonishing that a custom so commended by high example, should pass 
into general practice, and obtain special favor from the good, and the gentle, and the 
graceful, inasmuch as it is enforced by good, and gentle, and graceful emotions in the 
human heart. To give is one of the pure gratifications of all generous souls; to re¬ 
ceive is agreeable even to souls that are not generous. And, beside this, a gift that, 
beyond its intrinsic value, is a token of respect, a sign of pleasant remembrance, a 
messenger of love or affection, comes twice blessed: blessed by him who bestows, 
and him who accepts. 

13 ] 














4 PREFACE. 

And then again, presents are still further graced by the times, and seasons, and 
occasions, upon which they come. It is upon holy days and holidays; on Christmas 
day and New Year’s day; on anniversaries; on wedding days and birth days; at 
times when the heart is hallowed by pious emotions, or gladdened by joyous associa¬ 
tions, or enlarged by patriotic sympathies, that these visit us; and thus they are 
angels, and not in disguise. Who refuses them admission ? 

ICing3 and queens may have invented, but they could not engross a practice so 
genial. It has descended through every rank and grade of society. In our country, 
happily, there are none so poor as not to do it reverence. Even children — the black- 
eyed and blue-eyed readers of Peter Parley — wherever they may be found, in all 
countries, in all conditions, alike in the parlor and the kitchen, give and receive presents. 
Again I say it is a goodly custom. It rejoices the heart, it enlarges the circle of friend¬ 
ship, it increases the catalogue of good and gracious deeds, and, of course, of good 
and gracious remembrances. 

And we have still another thing to add, which is, that of late years, books have 
become the great vehicle of fulfilling this kind and complimentary custom. They 
have taken the place, for this purpose, of gems and jewels with the sumptuous, gew- 
gaws with the simple, toys and trinkets with the Boys and Girls. Gift Books are 
now among the established institutions of society. They are one of the necessities of 
a liberal, enlightened and refined public taste, and hence they are produced in every 
form and of every size, with every species of embellishment, every seduction of art, 
every attraction of subject. The highest genius, the great names in literature, the 
glories of art, the triumphs of Raphael, Shakespeare, Byron, Scott, Pope, Words¬ 
worth, and Moore ; the Bible and Prayer Book; the quaint rhymes of Herbert, 
and the inspired pages of Tennyson and Longfellow ; the love locks of Wyllis, 
and the deep, reverberating tones of Bryant ; these, and a thousand other things, 
of infinitely diversified form and substance, are rendered tributary to this new requisi¬ 
tion of the public mind. 

Now, we venture to offer our Kaleidoscope as a candidate for favor, as a Gift 
Book for all seasons and all occasions. Moderate in price, the publishers still have been 
liberal in endowing it with fine paper, fair print, a comely covering. They have not 
spared their purse in providing the engravings ; and we, the author, have taken some 
pains to collect pleasant and striking things, from the wide circle of history, art, 
nature, and science, which may please and gratify its readers. It is our Present 
for all times and seasons, to all our friends, grave and gay, gentle and simple, 
black eyes and blue. We present it to the Fathers and Mothers, Boys and Girls, as 
such; but, desiring that it should be a gift worthy of receiving, and a book worth 
keeping, we have endeavored to make it a Cabinet of Curiosities, a Gallery of Won¬ 
ders, a Treasury of Anecdote, alike calculated to enlighten the mind, please the 
imagination, and soften the feelings. 

If we mistake not, many of our sketches will be new to most readers, and espe¬ 
cially those which relate to the various endowments of the animal kingdom, which, 
to any reflecting mind, is an exhaustlcss theme of interest. 













CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

PREFACE,.3 

MOUNT VESUVIUS,. 9 

DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII, --------- 10 

A VISIT TO THE CRATER OF VESUVIUS IN 1855, - - - - - - - 12 

ASCENT TO THE CONE, ---------- 13 

THE CRATER, 17 

A GLIMPSE AT THE MEDITERRANEAN, ------- lg 

THE DESCENT, ----------- 20 

POMPEII AS IT IS, - - - - - - - - - - 22 

HERCULANEUM, -- ------ - - - 25 

A HURRICANE IN TIIE CRIMEA,.27 

A BIBLE STORY,. 43 

TIIE HUMMING BIRDS,. 49 

BIRTH-NIGHT OF THE HUMMING BIRDS, - - - - - - - 63 

THE CROCODILE,. 5 S 

INDIAN LEGENDS,.C7 

THE WOLF BROTHER, ... ------ 74 

THE RAT THAT WENT FISniNG,. 79 

JERUSALEM, - -- -- -- -- -- gg 

THE ANT-EATER,.100 

THE BEES AT HOME,.103 

LEGENDS OF LAKE SUPERIOR,.110 

THE INDIAN FAIRIES, - - - - - - - - - 113 

[ 5 ] 












6 CONTENTS. 


















PAGE. 


THE GOSSAMER CHASE, . 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 116 


THE ARMADILLO, . 


- 


- 

- 


- 

118 


NAPLES, . 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 121 


THE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-8IMBEL, - 


- 


- 

- 


- 

131 


THE USES OF ASTRONOMY, .... 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 139 


VOYAGE OF HENDRICK HUDSON, .... 


• 


- 

- 


- 

140 


DISCOVERY OF THE HUDSON RIVER, 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 141 


Champlain's voyage and the growth of colonies, 


• 


- 

- 


- 

142 


Galileo’s discoveries, ----- 

• 


- 


- 

- 


- 143 


EARLY DAYS OF ALBANY, ..... 


- 


- 

- 


- 

143 


NEW AMSTERDAM, ------ 

- 


- 


* 

- 


- 144 


TWO HUNDRED YEARS, - - * 


• 


- 

- 


* 

144 


SCIENTIFIC PROGRESS, ..... 

- 


• 


- 

- 


- 145 


AMERICAN OBSERVATIONS, ----- 


- 


- 

- 


- 

146 


THE DUDLEY OBSERVATORY, ... - 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 148 


WONDERS OF ASTRONOMY, .... 




- 

- 


- 

149 


WHAT IS AN ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATORY ? 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 150 


THE TELESCOPE, ...... 


* 


- 

- 


- 

151 


UTILITY OF ASTRONOMICAL OBSERVATIONS, 

- 


- 


- 

- 


154 


RELATIONS BETWEEN NATURAL PHENOMENA AND DAILY LIFE, 

- 


- 

- 


- 

155 


GEOGRAPHICAL SCIENCE, ----- 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 157 


QUESTIONS OF BOUNDARY, ----- 


- 


- 

- 


- 

160 


COMMERCE AND NAVIGATION, ... 

• 


- 


- 

- 


- 162 


P. ABB AGE'S DIFFERENCE MACHINE, .... 


- 


- 

- 


- 

164 


INCREASED COMMAND OP INSTRUMENTAL POWER, 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 165 


THE COPERNICAN SYSTEM, ----- 


- 


- 

- 


- 

167 


THE HOME OF GALILEO, ----- 

- 


- 


• 

- 


- 168 


NEW PERIODS IN ASTRONOMICAL SCIENCE, 


- 


- 

- 


- 

171 


HERSCHEL'S NEBULAR THEORY, .... 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 172 


RELATIONSHIP OF THE LIBERAL ARTS, 


- 


- 

- 


- 

173 


VERSATILITY OF GENIUS, ----- 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 174 


THE SPECTACLE OF THE HEAVENS, .... 


- 


- 

- 


- 

175 


UNDISCOVERED BODIES, .... - 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 178 


THE VASTNESS OF CREATION, ----- 


- 


- 

- 


- 

179 


CONCEPTIONS OF THE UNIVERSE, - 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 180 


CONTEMPLATION OF THE HEAVENS, - 


- 


- 

- 


- 

182 


MEMOIRS OF THE BAT FAMILY, 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 184 


THE PRINTING PRESS OF THE AGE OF STEAM AND ELECTRICITY, - 


- 

191 


MOUNT ETNA, . 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 198 


MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT, - 


- 


- 

- 


- 

201 


THE LUMP SUCKER, .... 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 204 


THE ROCK-BUILT CITY OF PETRA, 


• 


- 

- 


- 

206 


ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS, .... 

- 


- 


- 

- 


to 

CO 


THE SENSE OF TOUCn - 


- 



- 


- 

214 


THE SENSE OF TASTE, - 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 217 


THE SENSE OF SMELL - 


- 


- 

- 


- 

218 


THE 8ENSE OF HEARING, - 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 223 


TnE SENSE OF SIGHT, ------ 


- 


- 

- 


- 

231 


MEMORY, - . 

- 


- 


- 

- 


- 235 


IMAGINATION — DREAM8, ----- 








239 










CONTENTS. 


7 


ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS: 


PAGK. 


PLAYFULNESS, - 

HOME-SICKNESS, 

EXPERIENCE, 


COMPUTATION OF TIME, - 
CALCULATION OF NUMBER, - 

THE COLOSSAL STATUES OF AMUNOPH III, 
THE WOLVEEINE, - . ’ . 

THE EUINS OF BAALBEC, • . 

THE WETTEEHOEN, OE PEAK OF TEMPESTS, 

THE OPOSSUM,. 

THE LEAF,. 

THE LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS, 

THE CATACOMBS OF BENI HASSAN, 

THE TWO WINDMILLS, - 

MOUNT TABOE,. 

THE POECUPINE,. 

THE OBELISK OF ON, .... 
THE BEE AND BEETLE, .... 

SAINT GEOEGE,. 

HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS, - 
CAIEO, ... . 

THE ZEMNI,. 

THE LAPLANDEES,. 

JOHN DOEEE,. 

PASSIONS AND SENSIBILITIES OF ANIMALS, - 


241 

- 243 
246 

- 253 
255 

- 257 
261 

- 266 
270 

- 273 
278 

- 280 
290 

- 294 
296 

- 299 
301 

- 303 
304 

- 308 
329 

- 334 
336 

- 338 
340 


JOY, - 
PAIN, - 

ANGER, - 

FEAR, .... 
ASTONISHMENT, 

SYMPATHY FOR SUFFERING, 
FELLOWSHIP OF JOY, COMPASSION, - 


- 340 
343 

- 345 
352 

359 

360 

- 864 


ENVY AND CRUELTY, - 

NEW OELEAN8,.. . 

THE FLYING FISH,. 

THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT, .... 

THE SPOTTED MAETIN,. 

THE FIEST FEOST OF AUTUMN, 

THE PECCAEY,. 

MOUNT HOE,. 

THE ZEBU,. 

GOOD NIGHT,. 

MOUNT SINAI,. 

SUBJUGATION AND DOMESTICATION OF ANIMALS, 
CITIES OF ITALY,. 

ROME, ....... 

VENICE. - ....... 


366 

- 369 
372 

- 374 
377 

- 379 
383 

- 385 
388 

- 391 
392 

- 397 
420 

• 421 
430 


FLORENCE, 


- 432 


THE FAT-TAILED SHEEP, 


436 




















8 


CONTENTS. 


SKTTTARI,. 

THE MURAENA,. 

THE DORMOUSE,. 

MAY DAY,. 

THE MAY QUEEN, - 

TIIE MARMOSET,. 

THE OTTER, - 

KAMTSCHATKA,. 

TIIE BLUE JAY,. 

AUSTRALIA,. 

ANIMALS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA, 

TIIE TIIORNBACK,. 

LIFE IN TIIE COUNTRY - - - 

RUINS OF NINEVEII AND BABYLON, • 

THE ANGEL FISH,. 

THE WASHINGTON CEDARS OF CALIFORNIA, 
TIIE HALL OF COLUMNS AT KAENAC, 

THE POLAR REGIONS,. 

CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS, 

INSTINCT, ------ 

TENACITY OP LIFE, 

TEMPERATURE, ------ 

HYBERNATION, - 

FORM AND COLOR, ------ 

MODES OF ESCAPE FROM DANGER, - 
ARTIFICES, AND USE OF NATURAL WEAPONS, 


PAGE. 

- 440 
443 

- 446 
448 

- 451 

454 

- 456 

455 

- 460 
463 

- 467 
469 

- 478 
473 

- 4S2 
484 

- 4S6 
483 

- 495 
495 

- 499 
501 

- 503 
504 

- 506 
506 











DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. 


M 0 U N T VESUVIUS. 

all the sublime phenomena of our earth, there is nothing 
that more impresses the imagination than a volcano. 

V ' Whether in activity or at rest, whether shaking the hills 
and mountains with its thunders and lighting the skies with its 
fires, or whether sleeping amid its ghastly heaps of ruins, it affords 
a display of the stupendous power of the elements among which 
we live and breathe, calculated at once to exalt our conceptions, 
and to subdue and chasten our hearts before Him who stretched 
out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth. 

PI 









































10 MOUNT VESUVIUS. 

Of all the volcanoes of the earth, Vesuvius, situated in Southern 

Italy, and near the city of Naples, is the most celebrated, not on 
account of its elevation, for it is but 4,000 feet high, but because 
of its eruptions, and the remarkable phenomena which these have 
presented. It is, moreover, seated in a region which has been 
populous for ages, whence its explosions have been more carefully 
recorded than those of any other. 

Instruction of |)ontpm. 

Although Vesuvius had no doubt been subject to periodical 
eruptions for many previous ages, we have no recorded instance 
of this kind till the year G3, A. D., when it suddenly became agi¬ 
tated, shaking the surrounding country, and pouring forth immense 
volumes of smoke, ashes, and lava. These fell upon the adjacent 
towns, and especially upon Pompeii, which lies near its foot and 
was nearly destroyed. It had but just recovered from this mis¬ 
fortune, when, sixteen years afterward, it was overwhelmed and 
finally destroyed by another eruption, and one of the most terrible 
upon record. 

At this period, the Roman empire was in all its splendor, power, 
and glory. Italy was full of towns, cities, and villages, in which 
many of the inhabitants lived in the utmost state of luxury. 
Naples was then a large city, and along the shore of the bay to 
the east were Herculaneum, inhabited by many rich citizens, 
Pompeii, a place of considerable commerce, and having ample 
theatres, temples, fountains, baths, squares, and other public insti¬ 
tutions, together witli numerous other places of inferior npte 
and importance. 

The dreadful explosion began in the afternoon of the 24th of 
August, A. D. 79. At first there appeared over the crater of 
Vesuvius, and reaching thousands of feet into the air, a black 
column of smoke, taking the shape of an immense pine tree. Amid 
this was seen frequent jets of fire, like lightning. As night came 
on, the cloud spread far and wide over the country, and now 








DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. 11 

showers of cinders began to fall on all around. The people 
everywhere became filled with terror ; some fled into the fields, 
and others took to the ships in the bay. On all sides there was 
consternation and confusion. The sea rolled and swelled as if 
agitated by a tempest, and the darkness of the night was rendered 
terrible by flashes from the mountain like sheets of lightning. 
Soon the burning cinders and red-hot stones set the towns and 
villages on fire, while the most fearful sounds filled the air. The 
people, rushing hither and thither, maddened by fear, were obliged 
to protect their heads from the terrible storm, by pillows, blankets, 
and such other things as they could find. All this time the houses 
shook from side to side, and, though built of stone, many of them 
were tumbled in heaps to the earth. The groans of the wounded 
and the wails of the despairing, completed the general scene of 
terror and of woe. Thus passed the night; and even when day 
returned it was still so dark that torches were necessary to guide 
people on their way. 

It appears that the greater part of the inhabitants of the towns 
and villages had time to escape ; but in Pompeii, as well as 
.Herculaneum, there were some still left, when a vast mass of 
cinders, mingled with stones, mud, and water, fell upon them and 
buried them completely from the sight. Every living thing in 
them immediately perished. The ashes and mud covered the 
streets, and even penetrated into many of the houses. The thick¬ 
ness of this mass of earth and cinders was from thirty to sixty 
feet. At Pompeii, it hardened by time into a compact soil ; while 
at Herculaneum it became a solid body of rock, called tufa. 
Thus these cities disappeared, and were forgotten for fifteen 
centuries. 

Vesuvius has experienced other eruptions, at intervals, from 
that time to the present day. Nearly a hundred are recorded. 
In some cases, the mountain throws out streams of lava, which 
runs down the sides of the mountain, and after some years 
hardens into rock ; and in others, it only sends forth smoke, 
ashes, and scoria. 









^ Disit to tbe Crater of Drsubius in 1855. 

This celebrated mountain lies exactly east of Naples, and ob¬ 
trudes itself upon your notice from every part of that city. As 
you walk about the streets, as you traverse the bay, or ride into 
the country, it seems to pursue you' to gaze at and frown upon 
you. By the road, its top is ten or twelve miles from the town ; 
but in a direct line, it is less than six. To the stranger who is 
impressed with its history, it has ever an ominous look ; but it 
is decidedlv a favorite with the dwellers around it. Familiarity 
has shorn it of its horrors, and the romance of its convulsions 
seems to be a compensation for its destructiveness. Could its 
fires be forever quenched by a royal edict, I have no idea that the 
people would consent to it. For ten days after our arrival, its 
summit was enveloped in clouds ; but it cleared at last, and at 9 
o’clock of a fine April morning, we set out, six of us, to visit it. 


VESUVIUS AS IT NOW APPEARS. DURING AN ERUPTION. 


MOUNT VESUVIUS. 


















ASCENT TO TIIE CONE. 


13 

I may as well say, that what is generally called Vesuvius, con¬ 
sists of a mountain with two crests—its southern slopes coming 
down to the bay, along the verge of which are the towns of 
Portici, Annunziata, and Resina, with the vestiges of Herculaneum 
and Pompeii. The northern crest is called Mount Somma, the 
southern Vesuvio. It was once a single pyramid with a single 
crater. Ages ago, in some mighty convulsion prior to the great 
eruption of 70, it seems to have broken down its top on all sides, 
leaving it, as it were, an irregular plain. On the southern side 
of this a new crater was formed, the various overflows of which, 
for the last eighteen centuries, have heaped up the pyramid which 
now bears the name of Vesuvius. The entire mountain is thirty 
miles in circumference: the highest elevation about 4,000 feet 
above the level of the bay. 

It rises by a very gentle ascent to the height of 2,500 feet: here 
is the first plain, five miles in extent, which seems to be the proper 
basis of the mountain. At this point, on an isthmus of sand 
thrown out by some ancient convulsion, and lying between black 
and hideous rivers of lava, is the Hermitage, as well as the Royal 
Observatory, devoted to scientific investigations of the volcano. 
This latter is visible from Naples, and seen between the peaks of 
Somma and Vesuvius, seems almost as elevated as they are. Yet, 
when this point is attained, it is found that the crater is still 1,500 
feet higher up. As far as the Hermitage, the vegetation is pro¬ 
lific, except upon the more recent streams of lava, these being 
black as forged iron, and absolutely naked. The slopes of the 
mountain all around are dotted with villas and villages. Vine¬ 
yards and olive groves are the chief objects of culture. Huge cacti 
and gigantic aloes run riot in the soil. 

Ascent ta the Cone. 

Q 

We engaged a guide and horses at Resina, still proceeding up 
the ascent in our carriage as far as the bleak old stone edifice 













14 MOUNT VESUVIUS. 

called the Hermitage, which we reached in three hours irom 
Naples. Our road hither was a serpentine path up the sandy 
isthmus I have mentioned. Sometimes we traveled a mile to 
advance a hundred rods. All the way we were attended by a 
troop of volunteer boys, ragged as bears, as well as our six horses, 
lively little beasts that cut across our path, disdaining the beaten 
road, and clambering over the cliffs of lava like squirrels. Each 
had a rider as compact and adventurous as himself. We found 
at the Hermitage an uncouth assemblage of wild-looking men and 
shadow boys, some thirty in number, and all waiting for us, sent 
as a providence for their benefit. 

It here became us as intelligent tourists, to inquire of our guide 
for some Lcicrymce Cliristi, the inestimable beverage produced on 
the shell of this amiable volcano. He referred us to the master 
of the Hermitage,—a grisly monk, standing under a tree and 
leaning against its trunk. I called out to him, but he was deep 
in his breviary and made no answer. I could see his eyes twinkle 
at the prospect of a transaction, but his lips mumbled away as 
rapidly as ever. He knew there was no competition, and let me 
call again and again, without in the least bestirring himself. In 
about five minutes, however, the saint uncoiled from his devotion, 
and brought forth two bottles, one of red and one of white wine— 
the veritable Lacrymae Christi of Vesuvius, as he told us—made 
in Calabria, as the guide told us, aside. “ How much is it?” we 
asked. “ What you please,” was the answer, which always means 
double what you please. But the wine was very refreshing, and 
we paid willingly. We found the monk to be a very jolly fellow, 
and were much edified by his conversation. 

Having engaged two chairs fastened to poles, and arranged our 
corps of assistants, consisting of fourteen pushers and pullers, a 
guide, and an armed policeman, we mounted on six horses. Pre¬ 
cision compels me to mention a detail at first sight unnecessary— 
that our party consisted of two gentlemen, three ladies, and a 
little girl of nine years. Besides our regular troop, there was a 
loose dozen of fellows, some with straps, some with chains, and 










ASCENTTOTHECONE. 15 

some with wine and oranges—depending upon chance for an op¬ 
portunity to be useful or obtrusive. We were at least thirty in 
all, without counting the four-legged members of the expedition. 

We now left the plain, and with it all signs of vegetation, 
except here and there some spindling grass or tenacious weed 
that rooted itself in the iron soil. We soon came to the volcanic 
fragments, and over these lay our ragged bridle-path. The scene 
gradually became ghastly, lonesome, and wild. No one, without 
seeing it, can have any idea of the fearful aspect of a spreading 
mass of lava, lying at the foot of a volcano rising and smoking 

above it. By the side of our track lay the torrent which was 

• 

poured out in 1850. It seemed at least half a mile in width, and 
several miles in length. It had the appearance of melted scoria, 
thrown out from a blacksmith’s forge. Its complexion is black, 
slightly tinged with a bluish gray. The surface is undulating and 
broken into a thousand jagged and ragged forms—twisted, bent, 
contorted—displaying to the imagination the terrible means by 
which the dread phenomena were produced—the bowels of the 
earth converted into a crucible, and the mountain vomiting forth 
whole seas of rocks, sand, and earth, liquefied by the sulphureous 
and fiery agency of the elements. 

The mind is absolutely humbled and oppressed in the presence 
of such scenes. I felt this myself, and read it visibly in the coun¬ 
tenances of our adventurers, save only the child, who rollicked 
along on her pony, led by a young vandal who had seized her 
bridle. While we meditated and soliloquized, she abandoned 
herself to the delight of her first adventure on horseback. While 
we gazed thoughtfully upward at the frowning pyramid, or glanced 
with emotions of wonder and admiration at the far-spreading 

Bay of Naples, and the glittering cities along its border—all now 
at our feet—she saw only her pony, and felt only the exhilaration 
of his bounding motion. 

After an hour’s ride hither and thither, and often over bristling 
and dangerous points of lava, or along the narrow verges of 
yawning crevices, seeming to look into the depths of Inferno, we 











CLIMBING UP TIIE CONE. 

came to the plain called Atrio del Cavcdlo —the termination of 
our ride. This lies between the craggy elevations of Mount 
Somma on the north, and the cone of Vesuvius to the south. It 
is an irregular valley of ashes, sand, and stones, intersected by 
masses of lava. The cone, about 1,000 feet high, rises at an angle 
of forty degrees, directly from this valley. It is composed of 
loose ashes and scorim, and broken, rolling, jagged masses of lava. 
The ascent of this is the tug of war. 

Two of the members of our party—thejgldest and the youngest 
—being seated in chairs, were borne up the ascent, each with four 
men. The rest bravely set out on foot. There was nothing 


4 






























THE CRATER. 17 

really dangerous, but there was something a little scary in the 
operation, to say nothing of the discouraging, treadmill sensation 
in climbing such a mountain, half knee-deep in sand and ashes, or 
what was worse, over the sharp jagged points of lava. The child 
went first, and Avas speedily out of sight in easy unconsciousness, 
enjoying the luxury of a ride up Vesuvius. One of the elderly 
personages was soon nearly sea-sick, because of the walloping 
from side to side, either on account of the bending of the poles, 
the ruggedness of the way, or, perchance, a mischievous roll now 
and then put in gratis by the carriers, in revenge for the weight 
of their burden. 

Some of the foot-passengers soon began to puff, and now the 
waiters upon providence, the men with straps, the men with extra 
chairs, the boys with lusty arms, fell upon them and insisted on 
lending a hand. It was a regular rape of the Sabin es. In vain 
was all remonstrance, until, descending to the scene of action, I en¬ 
deavored to beat them off. They still persisted, however, and it was 
not till the gendarme actually loaded his carbine and threatened 
to fire on them, that they gave way. One desperate fellow even 
defied him, and I expected to see him made a fatal example of, 
for the soldier took aim, and evidently was not a man to be trifled 
with. I now understood the necessitv of such a guard. These 
fellows are savage as wolves, and but for the presence of authority 
armed with power to shoot them down, would render the traveler’s 
condition anything but safe. As it was, they were rude and 
insulting to the ladies, seeming to consider that in such an ad¬ 
venture, and in such a place, the laws of civilization are at least 
partially repealed, or to be liberally interpreted. 

dbx drater. 

u 

■# 

After three fourths of an hour—during which the ascent con¬ 
stantly grew more difficult and more formidable—we all reached 
the top. The scene amply compensated us for the toil of getting 
there. Our first attention was absorbed by a deep yawning gulf, 
2 



I 
























18 


MOUNT VESUVIUS. 


out of which was issuing a thin white vapor, strongly impregnated 
with sulphur. This is a crater formed within the last three 
months, seeming to forebode a speedy convulsion. Passing beyond 
this, we came to the crater of 1850. It is a profound excavation, 
the depth of which we could not determine, as it was filled with 
smoke. We understood it to be 200 feet. The edges are narrow, 
permitting one person only to pass at a time; portions of it 
consist of masses of pure sulphur, several feet thick. The quan¬ 
tities of brimstone here amazed us, and sufficiently indicated 
the abundant supplies of this ingredient in kindling the fires of 
the volcano. All around the gas and smoke were issuing from the 
crevices, and in these the heat was intense. A speculator in eggs 
had cooked half a dozen for us in one of these fissures. We ate 
them, as in duty bound, though they had a sulphurous taste, either 
from the mode of cooking, or from their longevity. 

The third crater, that of 1839, is still larger and still more 
active. The smoke issues in volumes, and its odor is such as 
almost to stop the breath. Six months ago a German gentleman, 
standing on its verge, was suddenly involved in a puff of exhala¬ 
tions, and losing his senses for the moment, fell into the crater, a 
distance of two hundred feet. With great difficulty he was found, 
still alive, but he expired a few moments afterward. 

The extent of surface embraced in the present grand crater of 
Vesuvius, which includes the several particular vents I have 
mentioned, as well as some others, is about two miles in circuit. 
The great chimney of the mountain, however it may seem to be 
open in several places, is still encumbered by a huge mass of 
materials, which have been accumulating since the terrific erup¬ 
tion of 1850 ; and hence it is supposed another eruption, necessary 
to relieve the volcano of its burden, cannot be remote. 


JA Glimpse at the Pebiterraueaa. 

The view from the top of Vesuvius well repays one for the 
trouble of ascending its steep and rocky sides. The city of 





















A GLIMPSE AT THE MEDITERRANEAN. 


19 


Naples, and other towns circling along the northern and eastern 
shores of the bay ; the bay itself, sparkling in the sunshine ; the 
rocky islands of Ischia and Capri, to the south ; are all objects of 
great beauty and interest. But I think the mind is most strongly 
impressed with the blue expanse of the Mediterranean. The first 
sight of this famous sea, must always be an era in the life of an 
American. To an Italian, to a Greek, to an Algerian, to a Si- 
donian—all accustomed to muddle in it from childhood—it is no 
doubt a very vulgar sheet of water. It is the penalty these 
people pay for being born and bred in the midst of the world’s 
wonders, that these are to them familiar and unsuggestive scenes. 
It is the privilege of those only who have seen them, from infancy 
to maturer years, through imagination, in all the enchantment 
that distance lends, fully to enjoy the emotions created by their 
real presence. To such, this is the sea on which navigation had 
its birth, and commerce its first development; it was the sea of 
Homer, and the maritime world of the Greeks. It was along its 
borders that Tyre, and Sidon, and Carthage, and Rome, and 
Athens had arisen, flourished, and decayed. It was the sea of the 
Bible, and of Mythology; it washes alike the foot of Mount 
Olympus and Mount Ararat; Ulysses and Neptune, Jonah and 
St. Paul, are woven into its memories. Half the world’s history 
is written upon its bosom and its borders. The bones of antiquity 
pave its depths and bleach along its shores. If Time writes no 
wrinkle upon the brow of Ocean, it has still graven every cape 
and headland, every cove and bay, every gulf and shore of this 
famous sea, with its ineffaceable deeds. Placed between three 
continents, and dividing them one from the other, it was fitted to 
become the cradle of humanity in its infancy, as well as its battle¬ 
ground when nations had increased and become mighty in their 
own conceit. Favored by nature, blessed above other climes by 
Heaven, it is now little better than a tomb of the great dead and 
the little living. The Sultan, squatting cross-legged in the midst 
of his harem, over the ashes of Constantine, the Pope, counting 
his beads amid the ruins of the Caesars, and the Bey of Tunis 































r 



smoking opium and inflicting tke bastinado, in view of the wrecks 
of Carthage—are happy illustrations of the Past and Present in 
this great Central Point of the World. Surely it is good to be 
here! It is suggestive and instructive, especially to an American, 
to look on this sea, so full of history, so leading us up to the 
fountains of knowledge, so enforcing every moral lesson by 
example. It is indeed good to be here! 

Cbc Jpesanl. 

Having long studied the summit of the mountain with wonder 
bordering on fear, and having taken an admiring survey of the 






































DESCENT FROM THE MOUNTAIN. 


21 


prospect, circling* far out to sea on the south, and far over the 
valleys and mountains to the north, we commenced our descent. 
This consisted of a series of flying leaps in the sand and ashes 
—for now we avoided the lava—with a few incidental slumps, 
tumbles, sprawls and pitches, much more ludicrous than dangerous. 
Each downward step, or rather jump, could not measure less than 
twelve or fifteen feet. It is scarcely possible to describe either 
the scene or the sensations occasioned by this coming down from 
the upper to the lower regions. It is, strictly speaking, neither 
running, nor walking, nor flying, nor pitching; but a compound 
of them all, attended by a remarkable tendency to turn heels over 
head. It would be a break-neck business but for the soft feathery 
bed in which these gymnastics are performed. A fat old man, or 
a fat old woman, going it strong, beats the witches of Salem. 
For myself, I felt that gravity was gone, the centre as Avell as 
the periphery—gravity physical, moral, and social. I made this 
observation even more upon others than upon myself. All dignity, 
all perpendicularity, all putting the best foot first, all look ere 
you leap, were lost in the funny headlong momentum of the 
descent. Facilis descensus averni, said Virgil ; and I thus trans¬ 
lated the passage at the moment: It is a good deal easier to go 
down than up Vesuvius. 

In due time we reached the bottom of the cone, mounted our 
ponies and proceeded back to the Hermitage. Here we made a 
settlement, everybody putting in a claim for services rendered— 
even the men driven off at the muzzle of a carbine. Some rested 
their rights on leading the ponies, which, however, they were 
positively forbidden to do. One had carried the signora’s shawl, 
another had picked up her bonnet; one had given signorina a 
push at a critical moment of the ascent,—and though she resented 
it as an insult, he must still be paid. Two men had lent the 
signore their strap, and wanted a dollar. One chap, a mere 
thatch of rags—who had trotted along from Resina, and had 
rendered no other service than to look at us by the way—burst 
into tears when he found his petition rejected. One of the young 


















22 MOUNT VESUVIUS. 



BIRD’S-EYE VIEYT OF POMPEII AS IT IS. 


ladies, upon this, felt a spontaneous relaxation of her purse 
strings, to the extent of twenty cents—which greatly comforted the 
broken-hearted beggar. We paid our guide a dollar, and four 
dollars for each chair. The whole expense of the expedition was 
thirty dollars—a detail which I chronicle for the use of future 
excursionists and parties of six. Such is a very concise narrative 
of how we went to see Volcan Vesuve. 

as it is. 

I hardly know which is most interesting—Vesuvius, the volcano, 
or Pompeii, the volcano’s victim. I went twice to the buried 
city, once in a carriage, and once by railroad. It is some 
fifteen miles from Naples, and lies on the margin of the bay, im¬ 
mediately at the foot of Vesuvius. It has been so often described 
that I shall not impose a detailed account of it upon you. I shall 
content myself with remarking that, taken in connection with its 



































POMPEII AS IT IS. 23 

relics at the Borbonico Museum of Naples, it throws more light 
upon the domestic manners of ancient Rome, than all other sources 
of information. It is more exciting to the imagination, more 
satisfactory as a study to our curiosity, than the relics at Rome, 
whether in the streets or the Vatican. It is difficult, nay, impos¬ 
sible, to call up to the fancy the crowds that once thronged the 
former at the Forum, or rent the air with acclamations in the 
Coliseum—but at Pompeii, we can easily picture Diomedes and 
his daughter, Sallust, and others, in their houses; for here 
are their very rooms, fresh with their decorations ; here are their 
utensils, their books or rolls of papyrus, the very coin found in 
their purses, the very rings worn on their fingers. Here we sec 
their sofas, their wine jugs, their lamps, their drinking cups, their 
plates and platters, their pots and kettles. 

Here, also, were found their bones, dramatically laid out to tell 
the dread story of their death, and the final catastrophe of a 
great city. Whoever has read Bglwer’s^Lg.s/ Days of Pompeii' 
has noticed the minuteness of his descriptions—the delineations 
of objects belonging to persons; and whoever has visited the 
place, has found that, in every particular, these are based upon 
facts which the senses verify. Except that there is a romantic 
hue and poetic exaggeration—lawful to the novelist—thrown 
over the scenes and events of the tale, and here and there a 
fictitious name or incident necessary to the continuity of a story, 
the whole might be a history, and far more reliable, far more 
susceptible of realization by the imagination, than the legends of 
Romulus and Remus, of the Sabine Women, of Egeria and Numa 
Pompilius, of the fight of the three Romans and the three Albans, 
of the Sybilline Books, of the wrongs of Lucretia, the death of 
Virginia, or the heroism of Horatius Cocles. 

But while I make these remarks, I feel bound to warn the 
reader against adopting the extravagant language of critics upon 
the character of the arts displayed in the relics of Pompeii. It is 
quite true that the Pompeians seem to have had almost every 
convenient device common to our households, especially in the 











‘A MOUNT VESUVIUS. 

kitchen. Furnaces, stoves, pots, pans, griddles, gridirons, were 
all in use. Glass, especially in bottles of diversified forms, was 
abundant. Glass for windows does not seem to have been used, 
except in a very few cases; the house of Diomedes was partially 
glazed with plates of mica, which are now at the Museum. The 
shapes of nearly all the utensils, such as vases, lamps, drinking- 
cups, and all such as admitted of tasteful proportions, were 
Egyptian in conception, whatever name they bore, as Grecian, 
Etruscan, and the like. I saw abundant evidence of the fact— 
becoming more and more evident every day—that Egypt was 
the great mother of ancient c-ivilized nations and ideas ; that the 
Pelasgians and Etruscans, the giant shadows of Italian history, 
as well as the Greeks, whether of the Peninsula or of Asia Minor, 
were of Egyptian kith and kin. 

Still, when we come to speak of the fine arts of Pompeii in a 
modern sense, and compared with modern achievements, our 
language should be measured. The architecture certainly pre¬ 
sents nothing of remarkable excellence. The vaunted frescoes, 
which have excited so much drooling ecstasy of admiration, 
would, for the most part, not satisfy the present requirements of 
a parlor fireboard. They are clever enough, as decorations of. 
the houses of cits of a third-rate Roman town, eighteen hundred 
years ago. We are surprised, and have reason, therefore, to be 
delighted at finding the taste of these people so far advanced—at 
discovering their appreciation of luxury so refined. But to speak 
of them as exquisite specimens of pictorial art, as we now use 
language, is absurd. The mosaics, so much extolled, are all 
coarse and inferior, compared with the best modern productions 
in this branch of art. Most of the statuary is poor, a few groups 
only ranking among the higher achievements of sculpture. 

One thing in these decorations is remarkable—the subjects are 
almost exclusively drawn from the Greek mythology. Among 
the thousand specimens, there are scarcely a dozen of a strictly 
historical character. Venus and Cupid are the great staple of 
these productions. Is there not a remarkable analogy in this to 














HERCULANEUM. 25 

the more modern paintings of Italy, so largely devoted to the 
Christian mythology ? Here, the Virgin and Child occupy the 
first place in palaces, convents, churches, and private houses. 
Next come the Saints, and the more dubious their legends, the 
more sure are they of the honors of oil and fresco. Is not this a 
curious trait in the Italian mind, which seems thus in ancient as 
well as modern days to insist upon making religion a fable, and 
fable a religion ? Is Italian inspiration safe to those who desire 
a religion whose basis is immutable truth ? 

Iprauhumim. 

This city lies nearer to Naples than Pompeii, being about 
six miles from that city. A small part only of the town is 
excavated, chiefly because the modern city of Resina is built 
immediately above it, on the very lava which covers it. Here, 
for fifteen hundred years, the people lived, ignorant of the 
wonders which lay buried beneath them. The chief object of 
interest among the disclosed relics, is the ancient theatre, of such 
dimensions that its orchestra was nearly one third more extensive 
than that of San Carlo of Naples—the largest modern theatre in 
the world. It is buried nearly one hundred feet in the lava; the 
descent is by a deep cut in the rock. It is but partially exca¬ 
vated, and parts and pieces of it can only be seen, and that by 
the light of torches. What an amazing revelation! a theatre 
which once held 8,000 spectators, now hidden in the earth, and 
actually beneath the streets of a modern city, whose busy wheels 
and jarring movements thunder over the head of the explorer! 

Though Herculaneum was probably much less populous than 
Pompeii, it seems to have been more sumptuous. Several of 
the edifices disinterred, display considerable luxury and taste. 
Numerous statues, and a large number of valuable antiquities, 
now in the Museo Borbonico, at Naples, were found here. Among 
the marbles is the interminable family of Balbuces, including 











26 MOUNT VESUVIUS. 

father and son, both on horseback, and botli the subjects of un¬ 
bounded critical eulogy. Nevertheless, one of them has got the 
head of somebody else upon his shoulders—though fortunately an 
old one. This, by the way, is the son’s statue; while the head 
of the father having been knocked olf and lost, its place was 
supplied by a new one—the work of a modern sculptor, Canardi ! 
What an advantage stone has over flesh! It may be mended even to 
the extent of fitting another man’s head upon a pair of shoulders, 
and thus it may rise from the dead, and, after eighteen hundred 
years, stand erect among living generations. But a real head 
once knocked off, is clone for. What a curious commentary on 
life and the things of this world! Reality dies and turns to 
ashes: men perish, and all that constitutes existence, their con¬ 
sciousness, disappears like vapor : nothing but remembrance, the 
mere mirror of existence, is perpetuated. And in this dream of 
the past, how things do get jumbled! On the old trunk of Balbus 
we find the vulgar head of some modern Smith or Jones, and to 
us and to Balbus, it is all one and the same! 


Note .—In the preceding account, it is stated that Vesuvius, in April, 1855, appeared 
to be preparing for a new eruption. This actually took place a few weeks after. 











HORSES DRIVEN BY THE WIND UPON TUE ICE. 


A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 


/q^p) T appears by the concurrent testimony of various authorities, 
ra} that the great plain which extends along the northern 
^ borders of the Caspian and Black Seas, is subject to tempests, 
which, if not of such spasmodic violence as those of tropical regions, 
are of longer continuance, and, by reason of the severity of the 
climate, arc productive of even more disastrous consequences. 

The shores of the Caspian are, indeed, but little known to the 
world. They arc the abode of numerous tribes of Tartars, and 
are often traversed by the trading caravans of Russia; but it is 
rare that we meet with a person who has actually seen these 

[2T] 






































28 


A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 


\ 


dreary regions. Nevertheless, it lias long been understood that 
this country is subject to violent winds, which often produce very 
curious phenomena. A strong breeze from the south drives the 
waters over the low lands of the north, sometimes to the distance 
of several miles; vessels at such times are often borne aloft on 
the waves and carried so far inland, that on the retiring of the 
sea it is necessary to break them up where they lie, it being im¬ 
possible to transport them back to the shore. The north winds 
have a different effect, inasmuch as the more elevated southern 
coast presents a barrier to the water: this, however, is heaped 
up several feet; but on the subsiding of the gale it rushes back, 
causing furious currents, not merely inconvenient but dangerous 
to navigation. 

In winter, these tempests acquire greater intensity, and become 
not only terrific, but destructive. During the snow storms, the 
winds, seeming to burst from the four points of the compass, 
wrestle over the sea and land in dreadful fury, threatening to 
destroy every thing that is exposed to their irresistible currents. 
The large droves of horses owned by the Tartars, are sometimes 
surprised and overtaken by these tempests, and, unable to resist 
their violence, become confused, and rushing one against the other, 
are driven upon the ice along the shore, until at last it breaks 
beneath their feet, and they are swallowed up in whole droves by 
the waves. A few years since, the Kalmuck prince, Tumeni, lost 
six thousand horses in this way. In the year 1827, the Khirguis 
tribe lost nearly 800,000 horses, by the severity of the winter. 

The accounts which reached us from the Crimea, during the 
siege of Sebastopol, were even more appalling. The following 
animated and picturesque description, presents a vivid picture of 
the scenes which transpired during the great hurricane of No¬ 
vember, 1854: 

“Stern as is the Black Sea in winter, murky its atmosphere, 
piercing its cold, violent its winds, and turbulent its waves, there 
has rarely been known a tempest equal in frightful fury to that 
which raged in those regions on the 14th of November, 1854 ; 
































A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 29 

bringing pitiless destruction to ships and mariners, strewing the 
coast with fragments of vessels and disrupted cargoes of valuable 
merchandise, and adding manifold to the discomforts of those who, 
by the exigencies of war, were living in camps and tents. 

“ Early in the morning of that day, when light had barely 
dawned, the officers and men encamped on the plateau outside 
Sebastopol found the strength of their canvas tents exposed to a 
severe test. The night had been one of heavy rain ; the surface 
of the plateau had been converted into a sort of slime, through 
which walking was difficult; and rivulets of muddy water found 
an entrance into almost every tent, and disarranged every man’s 
bedroom comforts. Gradually the rain abated and the wind 
arose, rushing over the plateau with a roar as of a distant can¬ 
nonade ; until at length, overcoming all obstacles, the wind 
pierced into and under and around the tents, in many cartes 
blowing them away altogether. The slimy compost on the out¬ 
side, receiving the full action of the blast, was hurled into the faces 
of the tentless soldiers, producing a scene of unutterable discomfort. 

“ Some of the tent-poles snapping in the middle, the officers or 
men were for a time buried beneath a load of wet canvas; and 
when, rudely disturbed in their morning slumbers, and deprived 
of all shelter from the murky heavens above them, they looked 
around on the plateau, the scene presented was frightful, even 
though mingled in some instances with the ludicrous. The storm, 
having no respect for rank or office, had leveled alike the tent 
of the staff-officer and that of the subaltern: the strongest was 
on that day the best, whoever he might be. Officers, high in 
rank, were to be seen wildly struggling with the flapping canvas 
of their overturned tents, or rushing about in the almost hopeless 
attempt to save their apparel, books, or other chattels, from the 
fury of the wind. There were a few huts near head-quarters; 
and such of these as escaped prostration were speedily sought by 
tentless officers, who—saturated with miry water, and almost riven 
by the piercing blast—rushed to find shelter from the storm. 

“ The accounts published of this scene, by newspaper corres- 













30 


A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 


pondents, officers, and privates, were full of strange incidents. 

‘ The principal medical officer of the British army might be seen 
in an unusual state of perturbation, seeking for his garments ere 

he took to flight. Brigadier-, with mien for once disturbed, 

held on, as sailors say, “ like grim death to a backstay,” by one of 

the shrouds of bis marquee. Captain-, in drawers and shirt, 

Avas tearing through the rain and through the dirt like a maniac 
after a cap, which he fancied was his own, and which he found, 
after a desperate run, Avas his sergeant’s.’ Many of the narrators 
say that the air Avas filled with blankets, hats, great-coats, little- 
coats, and CA'en tables and chairs ; that macintoshes, quilts, India- 
rubber tubs, bed-clothes, sheets of tent-canvas, Avent whirling like 
leaves in the gale towards Sebastopol; that the shingle roofs of 
the outhouses were torn aAvay, and scattered ovfcr the camp; that 
large arabas or wagons and ambulances were overturned; that 
men and horses Avere knocked down, and rolled over and over; 
that a large and heavy table in one of the tents was lifted oft the 
Ground, and whirled round and round till the leaf flew off; that 
inside the commissariat yard, overturned carts, dead horses, and 
groups of shivering men Avere seen, not a tent standing ; and that 

‘ Lord-was seen for hours sitting up to bis knees in sludge 

amid the wreck of his establishment, meditative as Marius amid 
the ruins of Carthage.’ The power of the hurricane was indeed 
great. Heavy commissariat stores were hurled down as it they 
had been light parcels; compressed masses of hay for the cavalry, 
weighing 200 pounds each, Avere whirled o\ T er the ground, and 
down the ravines toward Sebastopol; and a large flock of sheep 
Avas so utterly scattered, that, while some of the poor animals 
Avere driven to distant camps, others Avere almost literally hurled 
into the beleaguered city. 

“ But what were these miseries, compared with the privations 
of the common soldiers? Officers, though rendered tentless for a 
time, speedily found shelter with and among each other ; but the 
troops in general, engaged in camp, picket, and trench duties, 
and ill provided even for fine Aveather, were plunged into inde- 



































A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 31 

scribable wretchedness. The marines and riflemen on the cliffs 
overhanging Balaklava, lost tents, clothes, everything ; the stern 
rock was rendered nearly bare by the whirl that carried off all 
rising above the surface, and the poor fellows had to cling to the 
ground in prostrate attitudes to avoid instant destruction. On 
the level ground between the ravines, where the camps of the 
several divisions had been pitched, the rows of neat white tents 
had almost disappeared, one after another having yielded to the 
force of the blast; until the whole plateau became speckled with 
ragged bits of fluttering canvas, sticking in the black glutinous 
mire that had become deepened to several inches by the heavy 
rain. The men, with a kind of patient sullenness, stood near the 
spots where their tents had lately sheltered them, and bitterly 
commented on the tardiness, as it appeared to them, of the com¬ 
manders : wishing rather to dare all the hazards and horrors 
of a possibly successful assault on 'Sebastopol, than to be thus 
destroyed inch by inch. 

“ Not only was the wind terrific in violence, but it was accom¬ 
panied by rain and snow—a conglomerate of heart-depressing 
visitations. Hungry and faint, too, were the troops; for the 
morning repast had not been taken before the hurricane began ; 
and the commissariat officers, each feeling himself in personal 
peril, and seeing all his stores whirling in confusion around him, 
was little able to issue the rations during its continuance. The 
men on night-duty, who had passed perhaps eight or ten hours 
as trench-guards, covering-parties, patrols, outlying-pickets, or 
sentries, staggered back to their camps in the dusky morn, worn 
and haggard with fatigue, and there found tents down, fires 
extinguished, food unattainable,'rest impossible, comrades murmur¬ 
ing, everything disheartening: the trenches being very sloughs 
of mud and filth, the officers and men employed therein returned 
to camp in a state of personal discomfort calculated to add 
materially to the wretchedness. The hospital-tents were mostly 
struck down, and the poor maimed soldiers, heroes perhaps of 
Inkermann, were exposed to the pitiless storm ; even the hospitals 













32 


A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 


and storehouses built by the French, with stout planks and 
rafters, were scattered to the winds; and many a brave fellow 
succumbed under the trial, ending his brief career of glory too 
soon to hear the expression of admiration from the home-country. 
After the hurricane had endured about six hours, the temperature 
became colder, the falling snow became thicker, and the weakened 
men in all the camps were in much danger of perishing through 
so extraordinary an accumulation of inflictions. Many men died 
during the later hours bf the day ; whether starved or benumbed 
to death, it might be hard to say. A stable for the horses of 
Lord Raglan’s escort became a choice rendezvous, in which 
English, French, and Turks, military and civilians, officers and 
privates, crowded and crouched down in fellowship with the 
horses. An orderly was sent off to Balaklava, to learn how mat¬ 
ters were progressing in that quarter during the storm ; but man 
and horse, after three quarters of an hour’s struggling, and many 
falls and overturnings, were driven back by the irresistible blast. 

“ The soldiers’ letters were full of such recitals. An Ennis¬ 
killen dragoon wrote: ‘ I was on trumpeter’s guard at the time 
the storm came across the plain, accompanied with hailstones and 
snow; and it blew all our tents down. The only way to keep 
still was to lie down; I had to do so for fear of being borne 
among the dirt. You may think in what sort of a state our tents 
were, as, after it was all over, we had to lie down that night on 
the wet ground without anything to eat, the cooks being unable 
to keep the fires in.’ A private soldier wrote thus : ‘ Lieutenant 

-had just come in from night-duty. I had got him to bed 

comfortably, when down came his tent, and left the poor fellow 
stark naked. I had to carry him away with only a blanket 
around him, and he remained in that state all day, but he bore it 
remarkably well. Lieutenant-was blown away on his bed¬ 

stead. The doctor’s cocked hat was blown right into Sebastopol, 
so we expect to find it on the head of Prince Menchikoff when we 
get there.’ 

“ A rifleman, on the heights above Balaklava, thus records his 
































A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 33 

\ 

experience of that memorable da}': ‘We had such a terrible gale 
that our tents were all blown down, and many blown over the 
cliffs into the sea ; the one in which I stopped shared such a fate. 

... It was a fearful night that we passed ; every now and again 
might be seen men rubbing one another as the cramps took them 
in different parts of the body. The night was long, but morning 
broke at last; and it was found that two of our poor fellows 
were dead from sheer exhaustion.’ Another soldier said : ‘ In 
spite of all these misfortunes, every man made light of it until the 
hospital marquee went down: it was dreadful to see sick and 
wounded men actually blown away.’ 

“ An officer, after describing his brother-officers as wandering 
about, drenched to the skin, in search of shelter, as a consequence 
of the demolition of their tents, says: ‘All the tents have been 
struck, as nothing could withstand the fury of the tempest, except 
the Turkish ; these infidels understand tent-work better than we 
civilized folk.’ Such, from various concurrent testimonies, ap¬ 
pears indeed to be the case. The Turkish tent, although not 
constructed of such good material as an English bell-tent, resists 
the wind much more effectually and stands more steadily: on 
account, possibly, of a better proportioning of its height to its 
circumference; the men dig about a foot deep and throw the 
earth round on the sides, where it serves to steady the whole 
tent, and prevents at the same time the water from penetrating; 
in the officers’ tents, there is also a raised settee of stamped earth, 
available as a couch. 

“ Far more serious, however, were the disasters to the fleets on 
this fatal day. The soldiers, except a small .number, surmounted 
the tempest, and began on the next day to repair the disasters, so 
far as their means permitted ; but the ships on a furious sea are 
whollv at the mercy of the elements—one plank riven from its 
place, and hundreds of human beings may be consigned to a 
watery grave. To present a true picture of the maritime calam¬ 
ities, it will be necessary to attend to the harbor-arrangements 
adopted at Balaklava. 

3 










34 A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 

“ When this miniature haven became the depot of the British 
army encamped on the plateau inland, two officers were appointed, 
Captain Tatham and Captain Christie ; the one as harbor-master, 
and the other as superintendent of transports : the one to exercise 
a general control over the whole harbor, and the other to regulate 
the entry, anchorage, and discharging of the laden transport-ships. 
When, on the day of the battle of Balaklava, Lord Raglan deemed 
the harbor in some danger, he gave orders that led to the de¬ 
parture of many vessels from thence; and some of these suffered 
in the storm three weeks later from this cause: tug-boats drew 
out the larger vessels ; commissariat and ordnance officers re¬ 
embarked many of their stores; and the whole harbor became 
disarranged. The orders to this effect appear to have been given 
by Lord Raglan to Captain Tatham, who, so far as the harbor 
was concerned, controlled Captain Christie and the transports 
as well as the vessels-of-war. During many days, the harbor 
remained nearly empty ; the transports being admitted a few at 
a time only, lest the army of Liprandi should make a second 
attempt in that quarter. It was felt, however, by Captain Christie 
and others, that the anchorage outside the harbor was very 
insecure ; and that, unless a reoccupation of the harbor were 
permitted, some other place of disembarkation should be chosen. 
When the Sanspcireil screw-steamer took up a defensive position 
within the harbor, Captain Dacres became senior officer and 
harbor-master, under the controlling authority of Lord Raglan; 
and all the regulations concerning the admission or non-admission 
of tugs or transports were then made by him, subservient to the 
higher military authority. 

“Seeing that, after the battle of Inkermann, the British sick 
and wounded were carried down in hundreds, by means of am¬ 
bulances, arabas, and any other vehicles that could be obtained, 
to be shipped at Balaklava for the military hospitals at Scutari, 
a departure from the plan became absolutely necessary—the ships 
being required to enter the harbor in greater numbers, to permit 
the poor fellows to be embarked. Three days after that battle, 









A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 35 

the Prince arrived at Balaklava, bringing valuable supplies from 
England ; it was a new screw-steamer of great beauty and value, 
and the stores contained were of the utmost importance to the 
wellbeing of the troops during the approaching winter. In 
articles of warm clothing alone, the cargo would have been pre¬ 
cious ; besides the varied stores of other kinds, specie for the 
commissariat, and several companies of the 46th regiment. 
Captain Dacres, as harbor-master, was within the harbor; Captain 
Christie, as transport-master, was outside the harbor, amongst 
the transports; and there appears to have been much tedious 
formality necessary in obtaining the authority of both officers for 
a ship to enter. The specie and the troops were landed by means 
of two steam-tugs, and the Prince anchored outside the harbor, 
with the store of warm clothing on board. 

“ From this date, it is hardly possible to narrate in detail the 
occurrences in the harbor of Balaklava, without incurring a risk 
of doing injustice to some of the officers engaged. Calamities 
of a deplorable kind occurred in great number ; soldiers suffered 
unspeakable miseries as a consequence off these calamities; ac¬ 
cusations were brought by an indignant nation against those 
who were supposed to be in the wrong; bitter recriminations 
ensued between various officials; some charges were found to 
have been unjustly made; and death, resulting from wounded 
honor, carried off others too soon for the clearing up of their fair 
fame. 

“ Much of this confusion and disaster arose from the circum¬ 
stances, that the transport-ships were controlled by the transport- 
agent in the harbor ; that he was controlled by the harbor-master ; 
that the harbor-master acted in obedience to orders from Lord 

Raglan; that his lordship was three or four miles distant from 
the harbor; that the road from the harbor to head-quarters was 
so wretched as to render the communication of messages difficult; 
and that there was thus no available machinery for settling 
promptly any embarrassments arising from conflicting or disputed 
authority. The quarter-master general, adjutant-general, commis- 








3G A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 

sary-general, artillery and engineering commanders, all of whom 
were looking out anxiously for supplies from England, were 
connected with the army ; whereas the transports, as well as the 
ships-of-war, were connected with the navy; and hence repeated 
collisions of authority arose. This much it is necessary to 
mention at the outset, in explanation of the strange fact that 
many of the ships were on the outside of the harbor when the 
great storm arose. 

“ On the lltli of November, a gale sprang up, sufficiently violent 
to place in some peril the ships outside Balaklava, and to give 
rise to irritating discussions between the various captains con¬ 
cerned in the unfortunate regulations within the harbor. The 
12th and the 13th were in like manner rough days ; but it was not 
until the 14th that the awful visitation came in full force. As 
the morning dawned, the wind howled and the waves lashed, but 
when the forenoon approached, the gale increased to a hurricane 
such as none of the officers or seamen had before seen in those 
parts. A dark and gloomy sky aided in filling all minds with 
dread; and when the cables strained and the planks creaked, 
mariners felt that they were in the hands of a greater power 
than man. 

“ Inside the harbor were about thirty vessels ; comprising four 
ships-of-war, eight steam and seven sailing transports, four tugs, and 
the remainder private ships chartered by or for dealers who had 
settled as shopkeepers at Balaklava village. Outside the harbor 
were rather more than twenty vessels ; comprising the steam 
war-ships Retribution, Niger, Vesuvius, and Vulcan; the steam- 
transports Prince, Melbourne, Avon, and City of London; and the 
remainder sailing transport-ships and freight-ships. The ships on 
the outside of the harbor speedily became placed in great peril; 
they were in danger of snapping cables, and being hurled against 
the rocks. Many of the captains, seeing the danger, weighed and 
stood out to sea, knowing that a deep sea is better than a rocky 
shore during a storm. 

“ The hurricane increased in violence; the waves rose higher 











A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 37 

and higher in their fury ; and the ships, one by one, felt the dread 
influence of the tempest. First one transport parted from her 
anchors, and was speedily breached and sunk, carrying her whole 
crew to a watery grave; then two others met equally rapid 
destruction, leaving only a few sailors, who were dashed high up 
against the rocks—they hardly knew how or where ; then, amid 
the blinding spray and torn waves, might be seen other ships 
vainly struggling against a power too great for them, yielding 
one by one to the force, and following their predecessors to the 
fatal rocks which sternly bind the mouth of the harbor. The 
clouds became blacker, the. wind shrieked more fiercely, and 
the warring elements raged with yet greater and greater fury. 
Transport after transport yielded; until at length the splendid 
Prince , laden with a cargo which raised the total value to at 
least half a million sterling, parted anchor, and was drifted 
towards the shore, despite all the efforts of the engineers to steam 
out seaward. The crew, hoping to save the vessel by cutting 
away the mast, expedited the approaching catastrophe; for the 
fragments became entangled in the screw, stayed its revolutions, 
and rendered null the power of engines and of helm. The noble 
vessel struck ; then struck again ; then parted midships ; and 
then sank to the bottom—leaving only a few relics to tell of the 
once proud structure. With her sank all but seven of 1G0 persons 
who were on board. 

“ The great loss on this tragic day was that of the Prince ; but 
many other ships swelled the fearful list. The Retribution steam- 
frigate, the home at that time of the Duke of Cambridge, who 
had left Inkermann unnerved and invalided, was exposed for four 
hours to a tremendous infliction; she parted all her cables but 
one; then dragged that one nearly half a mile; then shipped a 
hundred tons of water ; and was only saved from dashing against 
the rocks by the energetic exertions of the crew in throwing all the 
heavy guns overboard. Even within the little land-locked harbor, 
though the waves were still, the wind whirled with such fury as 
to endanger the vessels there anchored: many ships were torn 

i 

■ 










38 


A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA 


from their moorings and hurled against others ; many were driven 
on shore ; others, again, were heeled over almost upon their beam- 
ends ; while all became injured to a greater or less degree. 

“The iron paddle-box boat of the Trent steamer, weighing 
seven tons, was lifted bodily into the air by the force of the blast: 
smaller boats were hurled high up the gorge of Inkermann 
towards the plateau ; and a boat containing two men was caught 
up, the men overturned, and the boat dashed against the wall of 
a house in Balaklava. Many affecting incidents occurred. The 
Wild Wave, a small but fine clipper-transport, was deserted by all 
her crew except three boys, and then left to float to destruction; 
many spectators, perched on the rugged cliffs, seeking to render 
aid, flung out a rope, at which one of the boys sprang, but a 
raging wave carried him away ; they flung it again, and a second 
boy was lost in endeavoring to clutch it; a third time was the 
rope hurled out, and the remaining boy succeeded in reaching the 
shore, bruised and senseless, just before the hapless ship was 
dashed to fragments against the rocks. 

“ When all was over, and -night had given temporary rest to 
the worn mariners, the scene of devastation was frightful to 
witness. The Prince* Resolute, Rip Van Winkle, Kenilworth, 

* An inquiry, instituted by the government, into the circumstances under which 
the valuable stores in the Prince were lost, made public the curious diversity of the 
cargo, and the complexity of the official arrangements concerned in its management. 
The list of ordnance stores, in ammunition and clothing, was immense; but this list 
by no means comprised all. There were sent out four complete sets of diving appa¬ 
ratus, four galvanic batteries, eight miles’ length of conducting wire, a quantity of 
stores for subaqueous explosions, -and men to manage the apparatus—all to be em¬ 
ployed in blowing up the Russian ships sunk across the mouth of Sebastopol Harbor; 
then, besides these and the stores for the army, there was on board a considerable 
supply of ordnance stores for the navy, intrenching-tools and shot-boxes, medicines 
for the army, and 200 tons of provisions. The following list- contains the stores and 
clothing only: 


Cartridges, musket. 
Shot, 


Pn. ‘1851.’ . 2J dms., 
Smooth bore, 4.1 “ 


. 1,000,000 

750,000 



3,000 

400 

140 













A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 39 

Wild Wave, Progress, Wanderer, Peltoma, and a Maltese brig, 
were cither sunk or had gone to pieces, losing all on board except 
twenty-three persons in the whole; while the Vesuvius, Retribu¬ 
tion, Melbourne, Mercia, Lady Valiant, Caduceus, Pride of the 

Ocean, Medora, and Sir Robert Sale, were seriously damaged, 
most of them totally dismasted. All this disaster had occurred 
within or near the mouth of Balaklava Harbor, but the whole 

Shell,, . . b'WCl . ' . ' Z 

(Common, empty, . 24 “ . 630 

Carcasses, fixed 24-pounders,. 30 

Cartridges, flannel, j Gun \ • ^pounders, 2Hbs, . . . 4,000 

( Bursters of sorts,.2,090 

Fuzes, Boxers, . \ gimmon. 700 

’ ) Shrapnel,.1,540 

Tubes, . . ,i Bras t s '.1.680 

j Friction,.5,040 

Portfires,. 168 

Match, slow, cwts. 3 

FOR BATTERING-TRAIN RESERVE. 

Shot, hollow, . 8 inch,. 600 

Shells, common, empty, 8 “ 2,570 

Carcasses, fixed, . 10 “. 40 

„ , ( Filled -1 Guns ’ 8 inch . 3 ’ 960 

Cartridges, flannel, -j j Bursters of sorts, . . . 7,116 

( Empty mortars, 5J inch, .... 1,000 

Powder, L.G., lbs., . . . . . . . . 4,560 

f Boxers, . 5.1 inch,.2,800 

. :: iss 

Match, lbs.,. 170 

Portfires,.230 

Tubes J Brass . 2 ' 500 

lUDes, . . J Friction,.6,000 

CLOTHING. 

Frocks, woollen,. 53,000 

Stockings, half-worsted, pairs,. 33,000 

“ “ Lambs’ wool, pairs,.2,700 

Drawers, “ “ “.17,000 

Blankets, single,.16,100 

Rugs, “ .3,750 

Palliasses “.10,000 

Cloaks, watch,.2,500 

Boots, ankles, pairs,.* 12,880 

Shoes, pairs,.1,000 

Nothing can give a better idea of the extent of the “ Eastern War,” than this table, 
which, however, only furnishes a list of the articles sent in one ship for the British 
army. 






















40 A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 

coast exhibited a scene of wreck and ruin—there being hardly a 
spot upon the beach which was not covered with the fragments of 
some vessel or its cargo—masts, spars, sails, pieces of boats, oars, 
hatches, barrels of rum, cordage, bales of clothes, beds, blankets, 
rafts of timber, fragments of furniture, boxes and chests, trusses of 
hay, tents, and numberless sundries. 

“ A commission of inquiry had at a later date to thread a 
perfect labyrinth of intricacy, in the endeavor to discover who 
had controlled the loading of this hapless vessel—the Prince. The 
Minister of War, the Admiralty, the Horse Guards, the Ordnance 
Office, the Army Medical Department, the General Screw Company, 
and the captain of the vessel, had all possessed some control in 
the matter; but the limits of the control were ill defined. When 
she arrived at Scutari, early in November, the medicines 
should have been landed, but were not; when she arrived at 
Balaklava, a few days afterwards, the clothing should have been 
landed, but was not: medicines and clothing alike went to the 
bottom of the Black Sea, entailing indescribable misery upon 
the sick soldiery at Scutari and the working soldiery outside 
Sebastopol. 

“ The tempest was not confined to Balaklava and its vicinity; 
it raged all round the coast, and wrought sad devastation among 
the ships. The larger vessels of the combined fleets, anchored 
off the mouth of the Katclia, were severely tried ; there were 
nearly fifty sail, of all kinds, within about a mile of a lee-shore, 
exposed to a hurricane such as few of the seamen had ever before 
experienced. All the line-of-battle ships tried three, and even four 
anchors, and the steamers steamed full power against the gale 
to prevent dragging ; yet was the peril great. The flag-ship was 
anchored close in shore, and was with difficulty kept from sinking ; 
the waves swept clean over her upper deck, and, although all her 
hatches were battened down, she still shipped five or six feet of 
water. 

“ Among the smaller vessels of the two fleets, cables began to 
strain, and rudders to lose their command ; then cables parted, 










A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 41 

and anchors were lost; then ships crashed against each other— 
spars snapped like rotten sticks: jib-booms, bowsprits, yards, 
masts, went to ruin; then two vessels, thus locked together, 
would be driven against a third, stripping it from stem to stern; 
and then would all three be driven together against the rocks, or 
grounded upon the beach. The Sampson was reduced almost to 
a wreck by one of these collisions. Ten transports, five English 
and five French, were on shore ; two were riding out the remnant 
of the gale with their masts cut away ; another had £ one down in 
deep water ; a Turkish two-decker, the Muhbiri Surur, with the 
Turkish admiral’s flag flying, had nothing but mainmast and 
bowsprit left; the French ships Ville de Paris, Suffren, Bayard, 
Montebello , and Friedland, were much knocked about; and many 
ol the English ships-of-war had been rudely treated, though not 
sunk or driven on shore. 

“ The French squadron at Kamiesch, consisting chiefly of war- 
steamers with steam and sailing transports, suffered less than the 
ships at Balaklava and Ivatcha; in the latter case, the vessels 
were off a lee-shore, unprotected by any kind of haven; while in 
relation to Balaklava, the unfortunate mismanagement led to the 
anchoring of many ships without instead of within the harbor, 
and to the incurring of disaster that might in great part have 
been avoided. At Kamiesch, a bay or inlet afforded some shelter ; 
insomuch that, although dismantling occurred, the amount of 
damage was small compared with that wrought in other quarters 
on this dreadful day. 

“ Eupatoria was no more spared than other parts of this dan¬ 
gerous coast, during the awful hurricane. A few ships-of-war 
had been left there since the time of the landing of the Allies in 
the Crimea; and these ships felt the full effects of the tempest. 

The chief catastrophe of the day was the wreck of the Henri 
Quatre, a splendid French sliip-of-war of 100 guns. No fewer 
than four anchors were employed to enable the noble vessel to 
maintain her place successfully against the raging tempest; but 
all in vain. The timbers of the ship creaked and groaned ; the 

• 

\ 










42 A HURRICANE IN THE CRIMEA. 

furniture and fittings were flung wildly from side to side; one 
cable snapped, then another ; and the crew, watching at whiles 
the wreck of many smaller vessels on the beach, dreaded lest 
their own hour of trial should be at hand. As evening was about 
to close in, the two remaining cables yielded. 

“ The Abbe Bertrand, chaplain of the ship, in a letter written 
four days afterwards, described vividly what followed: ‘ It was 
but too true—the ship was on her beam-ends. There was no 
further hope*; the sea and the wind were too violent for us to 
hope to get out to sea. We had only to resign ourselves to our 
fate. All that was left for us was to be thrown on that part of 
the coast where the bottom was sandy. \ ou cannot have an idea 
of the anguish we all felt, expecting every moment the first shock 
when the ship touched the ground. We did feel the first shock, 
the second, the third, and yet the good ship held out. We were 
aground; but wo knew not at what distance from the shore, as 
we were in darkness. The weather continued awful. At last 
the day dawned, and we found ourselves at 200 metres from the 
shore, and our ship had not a single drop of water in her hold. 
At some yards from us, a Turkish vessel had been wrecked at 
eleven o’clock at night, three hours after us. She drove on a 
bank, which threw her on her side, and the whole of the crew we 
saw clinging to the masts and shrouds, not being able to remain 
on the deck, which was completely under water. At last, after a 
night passed in indescribable anguish, fearing each moment that 
the ship was opening asunder, the day dawned, and we found 
ourselves so near land that, in the event of any great accident 
occurring, it would not be difficult to save ourselves.’ ” 










A BIBLE STORY. 

f PIE story of Rebecca, who became the wife of Isaac, as 
recorded in the 24th chapter of Genesis, lias ever been 
regarded as one of the most pleasing narratives in the 
Bible. It not only describes a state of manners of primeval 
simplicity, indicative of the patriarchal ago, but also a remarkable 
and interesting instance of confiding faith : and all this is related 
with a charming naturalness, seeming to be the words of truth 

itself. The repetitions in the narrative, which modern rules of 

[48] 





















44 A BIBLE STORY. 

rhetoric would disdain, are like those which ve find in neaily 
all the early compositions of a people, and strongly remind us of 
what we meet with in ancient ballads: the same ideas, the 
same words, often recurring, like a chorus, and giving a certain 
impressiveness to the story. The truth of these obser\ ations w ill, 
perhaps, be more striking, if we read the Scripture nailathe in 

the form of modern typography. 

“ And Abraham was old, and well stricken in age: and the 
Lord had blessed Abraham in all things. And Abraham said 
unto his eldest servant of his house, that ruled over all that he 
had: Put, I pray thee, thy hand under my thigh, and I will 
make thee swear by the Lord, the God of heaven, and the God 
of the earth, that thou slmlt not take a wife unto my son of the 
daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell; but thou 
shaft go unto my country, and to my kindred, and take a wife 
unto my son Isaac. 

“And the servant said unto him: Peradventure the woman 
will not be willing to follow me unto this land; must I needs 
brine: thy son again unto the land from whence thou earnest ? 
And Abraham said unto him: Beware thou that thou bring not 
my son thither again. The Lord God of heaven, which took me 
from my father’s house, and from the land of my kindred, and 
which spake unto me, and that sware unto me, saying, Unto thy 
seed will I give this land ; he shall send his angel before thee, 
and thou slialt take a wife unto my son from thence. And if the 
woman will not be willing to follow thee, then thou shaft be clear 
from this my oath; only bring not my son thither again. And 
the servant put his hand under the thigh of Abraham his master, 
and sware to him concerning that matter. 

“ And the servant took ten camels, of the camels of his master 
and departed—for all the goods of his master were in his hand— 
and he arose and went to Mesopotamia, unto the city of Nahor. 
And he made his camels to kneel down without the city by a well 
of water, at the time of the evening, even the time that women go 
out to draw water. And he said, 0 Lord God of my master 









A BIBLE STORY. 45 

t 

Abraham, I pray thee, send me good speed this day, and show 
kindness unto my master Abraham. Behold, I stand here by the 
. well of water, and the daughters of the men of the city come out 
to draw water : and let it come to pass, that the damsel to whom 

I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink; 
and she shall say, Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also ; 
let the same be she that thou hast appointed for thy servant 
Isaac; and thereby shall I know that thou hast shewed kindness 
unto my master. 

“And it came to pass, before he had done speaking, that, 
behold, Rebecca came out, who was born to Bethuel, son of 
Milcali, the wife of Nahor, Abraham’s brother, with her pitcher 
upon her shoulder. And the damsel was very fair to look upon, 
a virgin ; neither had any man known her: and she went down 
to the well, and filled her pitcher, and came up. And the servant 
ran to meet her, and said, Let me, I pray thee, drink a little water 
of thy pitcher. And she said, Drink, my lord; and she hasted, 
and let down her pitcher upon her hand, and gave him drink. 

“And when she had done giving him drink, she said, I will 
draw water for thy camels also, until they have done drinking. 

And she hasted, and emptied her pitcher into the trough, and ran 
again unto the well to draw water, and drew for all his camels. 

And the man, wondering at her, held his peace, to wit whether 
the Lord had made his journey prosperous or not. 

“ And it came to pass, as the camels had done drinking, that 
the man took a golden earring of half a shekel weight, and two 
bracelets for her hands of ten shekels weight of gold, and said, 
Whose daughter art thou ? tell me, I pray thee. Is there room 
in thy father’s house for us to lodge in? And she said unto him, 

I am the daughter of Bethuel the son of Milcali, which she bare 
unto Nahor. She said, moreover, unto him, We have both straw 
and provender enough, and room to lodge in. 

“ And the man bowed down his head, and worshiped the 
Lord. And he said, Blessed be the Lord God of my master 
Abraham, who hath not left destitute my master of his mercy and 











46 A BIBLE STORY. 

his truth : I being in the way, the Lord led me to the house of 
inv master’s brethren. And the damsel ran, and told them of her 
mother’s house of these things. 

“ And Rebecca had a brother, and his name was Laban: and 
Laban ran out unto the man, unto the well. And it came to pass, 
when he saw the earring, and bracelets upon his sister’s hands, 
and when he heard the words of Rebecca his sister, saying, Thus 
spake the man unto me, that he came unto the man; and, behold, 
he stood by the camels at the well. And he said, Come in, thou 
blessed of # the Lord; wherefore standest thou without? for I 
have prepared the house, and room for the camels. 

“ And the man came into the house : and he ungirded his 
camels, and gave straw and provender for the camels, and water 
to wash his feet, and the men’s foot that were with him. And 
there was set meat before him to cat: but he said, I will not cat, 
until I have told mine errand. And he said, Speak on. 

“ And he said, I am Abraham’s servant. And the Lord hath 
blessed my master greatly, and he is become great: and he hath 
given him flocks and herds, and silver and gold, and men-servants, 
and maid-servants, and camels, and asses. And Sarah, my master’s 
wife, bare a son to my master when she was old ; and unto him 
hath he given all that lie hath. And my master made me swear, 
saying: Thou shalt not take a wife to my son of the daughters of 
the Canaanites, in whose land I dwell; but thou shalt go unto 
my father’s house, and to my kindred, and take a wife unto my 
son. And I said unto my master, Peradventure the woman will 
not follow me. And he said unto me, The Lord, before whom I 
walk, will send his angel with thee, and prosper thy way; and 
thou shalt tako a wife for my son of my kindred, and of my 
father’s house. Then shalt thou be clear from this my oath, when 
thou comest to my kindred; and if they give not thee one, thou 
shalt be clear from my oath. And I came this day unto the well, 
and said, 0 Lord God of my master Abraham, if now thou do 
prosper my way which I go, behold, I stand by the well of water, 
and it shall come to pass, that when the virgin cometh forth to 










A BIBLE STORY. 


47 


draw water, and I say to her, Give me, I pray thee, a little water 

of thy pitcher to drink; and she say to me, Both drink thou, and 

I will also draw for thv camels : let the same be the woman whom 

*/ 

the Lord hath appointed out for my master’s son. And before I 
had done speaking in mine heart, behold, Rebecca came forth 
with her pitcher on her shoulder, and she went down unto the 
well and drew water: and I said unto her, Let me drink, I pray 
thee. And she made haste, and let down her pitcher from her 
shoulder, and said, Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also : 
so I drank, and she made the camels drink also. And 1 asked 
her, and said, Whose daughter art thou? And she said, The 
daughter of Bethuel, Nahor’s son, whom Milcah bare unto him : 
and I put the earring upon her face, and the bracelets upon her 
hands. And I bowed down my head, and worshiped the Lord, 
and blessed the Lord God of my master Abraham, which had led 
me in the right way, to take my master’s brother’s daughter unto 
his son. And now, if ye will deal kindly and truly with my 
master, tell me : and if not, tell me; that I may turn to the right 
hand, or to the left. 

“Then Laban and Bethuel answered and said: The thing pro- 
ceedeth from the Lord ; we cannot speak unto thee bad or good. 
Behold, Rebecca is before thee, take her, and go, and let her be 
thy master’s son’s wife, as the Lord hath spoken. 

“ And it came to pass, that, when Abraham’s servant heard 
their words, he worshiped the Lord, bowing himself to the earth. 
And the servant brought forth jewels of silver, and jewels of gold, 
and raiment, and gave them to Rebecca: he gave also to her 
brother and to her mother precious things. And they did eat 
and drink, he and the men that were with him, and tarried all 
night: and they rose up in the morning; and he said, Send me 
away unto my master. And her brother and mother said, Let the 
damsel abide with us a few days, at the least ten ; after that she 
shall go. And lie said unto them, Hinder me not, seeing the Lord 
hath prospered my way; send me away, that I may go to my 
master. And they said, We will call the damsel, and enquire at 

















48 A BIBLE STORY. 

her mouth. And they called Rebecca, and said unto her, Wilt 
thou go with this man? And she said, 1 will go. And they sent 
away Rebecca their sister, and her nurse, and Abraham’s servant, 
and his men. And they blessed Rebecca, and said unto her, Thou 
art our sister; be thou the mother of thousands of millions, and 
let thy seed possess the gate of those which hate them. 

“ And Rebecca arose, and her damsels, and they rode upon the 
camels, and followed the man ; and the servant took Rebecca, 
and went his way. 

“ And Isaac came from the way of the well Lahai-roi; for he 
dwelt in the south country. And Isaac went out to meditate in 
the field at the even-tide; and he lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, 
behold, the camels were coming. And Rebecca lifted up her 
eyes; and when she saw Isaac, she lighted off the camel. For 
she had said unto the servant, What man is this that walketh in 
the field to meet us ? And tlie servant had said. It is my master : 
therefore she took a vail, and covered herself. And the servant 
told Isaac all things that he had done. And Isaac brought her 
into his mother Sarah’s tent, and took Rebecca, and she became 
his wife, and he loved her; and Isaac was comforted after his 
mother’s death.” 












THE HUMMING BIRDS. 


& 


✓ IIESE are at once the smallest 

d „ 


and most beautiful of the fea¬ 
thered tribes. One species 
only is common as far north as New 
England ; this is called the ruby-throat, 
and is what is generally spoken of as 
the humming bird, in the United States. Farther south, however, 
in the tropical parts of America, and in the West Indies, there 
are three hundred different species, all bearing a general resem¬ 
blance, yet each kind possessing peculiarities of form, color, and 
habits. 

There is considerable diversity in size, from two to four 
inches in length. In delicacy of texture, and metallic brilliancy 
of color, their feathers are unrivaled. They are the most active 
of all known birds, exceeding even the swallow in swiftness. 
Suspended in air and hovering over a flower, their wings move 
with so much rapidity that they are not seen, except as gleams of 
light, all radiant, as the sun takes them at those angles which 
give out their different lustres. This rapid motion of the wings 
produces a humming noise, resembling that of the larger insects ; 
it is this which gives name to the genus. 

In the northern parts of the United States, the humming bird 
is a frequent summer visitor of the flowers around the house and 

[49] 













50 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

in the garden; more than a single pair are, however, seldom seen 
at a time, or in one place. In the warmer parts of the continent, 
on the contrary, they absolutely swarm like bees, as well in 
the forests as the parterres. They are great lovers of tubular 
flowers, and as these abound in the tropics, the forests being often 
thickly festooned with them, the humming birds, of many forms 
and hues, are seen by thousands among them, making the air 
musical with their wings. 

To the naturalist, these little creatures are a studv of extreme 
interest, their structure being in many respects peculiar. The 
energy with which they are endowed, has ever extorted admi¬ 
ration from attentive observers. Among those who have most 
happily described our own little ruby-throat, is Wilson the orni¬ 
thologist. 

“ The nest,” he says, “ is generally fixed on the upper side of a 
horizontal branch, not among the twigs, but on the body of the 
branch itself. Yet 1 have known instances where it was attached 
by the side to an old moss-grown trunk ; and others, where it was 
fastened on a strong rank stalk, or weed, in the garden : but these 
cases are rare. In the woods, it very often chooses a white oak 
sapling to build on; and in the orchard, selects a pear-tree for 
that purpose. The branch upon which the nest is built, is seldom 
more than ten feet from the ground. 

“ The nest is about an inch in diameter, and nearly as much in 
depth; the outward coat is formed of small pieces of a blucish- 
grny lichen that vegetates on old trees and fences, thickly glued 
over with the saliva of the bird, giving firmness and consistency 
to the whole, as well as keeping out moisture. Within this, are 
thick matted layers of the fine wings of certain flying seeds, closely 
laid together; and lastly, the downy substance from the great 
mullen, and from the stalks of the common fern, lines the whole. 
The base of the nest is continued round the stem of the branch, to 
which it closely adheres, and when seen from below, appears as a 
mere mossy knot or accidental protuberance. The eggs are two, 
pure white, and of equal thickness on both sides. When a person 










THE HUMMING BIRDS. 51 

approaches their nest, the little proprietors dart round with a 
humming sound, passing frequently Avithin a few inches of his 
head; and should .the young be newly hatched, the female will 
resume her place on the nest, even while you stand within a yard 
or two of the spot. 

“ The precise period of incubation, I am unable to give; but 
the young are in the habit, a short time before they leave the nest, 
of thrusting their bills into the mouths of their parents, and 
sucking what they have brought them. I never could perceive 
that they brought them any animal food, though, from various 
circumstances, 1 think it highly probable that they do. As I 
have found their nests with eggs as late as the 12th of July, I do 
not doubt but that they frequently, and perhaps usually, raise two 
broods in the same season. 

“ The humming bird is extremely fond of tubular flowers, and I 
haA r e often stopped with pleasure to observe his manoeuvres among 
the blossoms of the trumpet-flower. When arrived before a 
thicket of these that are full-blown, lie poises or suspends himself on 
the wing for the space of tAvo or three seconds, so steadily, that his 
wdngs become invisible, or only like a mist; and you can plainly 
distinguish the pupil of his eye, as he looks round with great 
quickness and circumspection ; the glossy, golden green of his 
back, and the fire of his throat, dazzling in the sun—he forms 
altogether a most interesting object. 

“ When lie alights, which is frequently, he always prefers the 
small dead tAvigs of a tree or bush, where he dresses and arranges 
his plumage Avith great dexterity. His only note is a single chirp, 
not louder than that of a small cricket or grasshopper, generally 
uttered while he passes from floAver to floAver, or Avlicn engaged 
in fights with his felloAVS ; for when tAVO males meet at the same 
bush or flower, a battle instantly takes place, and the combatants 
ascend in the air, chirping, darting and circling round each other, 
till the eye is no longer able to folloAV them. The conqueror, 
however, generally returns to reap the fruits of his victory. I 
have seen one of these heroic little creatures attack, and, for a 











52 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

few minutes, tease the king-bird; and have also seen him, in Ids 
turn, assaulted by an humble bee, which he soon put to flight. 

The flight of the humming bird, from flowey to flower, greatly 
resembles that of the bee, but is so much more rapid that the 
latter seems a mere loiterer in comparison. He sometimes enters 
a room by the window, examines the boquets of flowers, and 
passes out at an opposite door or window. He has been known to 
take refuge in a hothouse, during the cool nights of autumn. 

“ lie is one of the few birds that are universally beloved; and 
amid the sweet, dewy serenity of a summer’s morning, his appear¬ 
ance among the arbors of honey-suckles, and beds of flowers, is 
truly interesting. 

“When morning dawns, and the blest sun again 
Lifts his red glories from the eastern main, 

Then through our woodbines, wet with glittering dews, 
The flower-fed humming bird his round pursues ; 

Sips with inserted tube the honeyed blooms, 

And chirps his gratitude as round he roams. 

While richest roses, though in crimson drest, 

Shrink from the splendor of his gorgeous breast; 

What heavenly tints in mingling radiance fly! 

Each rapid movement gives a different dye; 

Like scales of burnished gold the dazzling show, 

Now sinks to shade—now like a furnace glow!” 

It is curious that this beautiful family of birds, so numerous 
and of such diversified species, should be wholly confined to the 
American continent. There is nothing to which it is akin, except 
the nectar-suckers of Africa, in the Eastern hemisphere, which arc 
not only generically distinct, but widely different in size, form, and 
habits. The humming bird is as much our exclusive property, as 
are the fairies the essential possession of eastern countries. It 
is this fact that suggested the following lines : 









c*' 



^irtlj-^ight of flic ^jamming $irb. 

L 


I’ll tell you a Fairy Tale that’s new — 
How the merry Elves o’er the ocean flew 
d From the Emerald Isle to this far-off shore, 
v ) As they were wont in the days of yore — 
And played their pranks one moonlit night, 

Where the zephyrs alone could see the sight. 


II. 

Ere the Old World yet had found the New, 

The Fairies oft in their frolics flew, 

To the fragrant isles of the Caribbee — 

Bright bosom-gems of a golden sea. 

Too dark was the film of the Indian’s eye, 

These gossamer sprites to suspect or spy — 

So they danced ’mid the spicy groves unseen, 

And gay were their gambolings, I ween, 

For the fairies, like other discreet little elves, 

Are freest and fondest when all by themselves. 

No thought had they that in after time 
The muse would echo their deeds in rhyme ; 

So gaily doffing light stocking and shoe, 

They tripped o’er the meadow all dappled in dew. 
I could tell, if I would, some right merry tales 

Of unslippered fairies that danced in the vales — 

153] 












54 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

But the lovers of scandal I leave in the lurch— 

And besides — these elves don’t belong to the church. 

If they danced — be it known — ’twas not in the clime 
Of your Mathers and Hookers, where laughter was crime; 
Where sentinel virtue kept guard o’er the lip — 

Though witchcraft stole into the heart by a slip! 

O no! ’twas the land of the fruit and the flower — 
Where summer and spring both dwelt in one bower — 
Where one hung the citron all ripe from the bough, 

And the other with blossoms encircled its brow; 

Where the mountains embosomed rich tissues of gold, 

And the rivers o’er rubies and emeralds rolled: 

It was there, where the seasons came only to bless, 

Arid the fashions of Eden still lingered, in dress, 

That these gay little fairies were wont, as I say, 

To steal in their merriest gambols away. 

But, dropping the curtain o’er frolic and fun, 

Too good to be told, or too bad to be done, 

I give you a legend from Fancy’s own sketch, 

Though I warn you he’s given to fibbing—the wretch! 
But I learn by the legends of breezes and brooks, 

’Tis as true as the fairy tales told in the books! 

UL 

One night, when the moon shone flair on the main, 
Choice spirits were gathered from mountain and plain, 

And lightly embarking from Erin’s bold cliffs, 

They slid o’er the wave in their moonbeam skiffs. 

A ray for a rudder — a thought for a sail — 

Swift, swift was each bark as the wings of the gale! 

Yet long were the tale, should I linger to say 
What gambols and frolics enlivened the way; 

IIow they flirted with bubbles that danced on the wave; 
Or listened to mermaids that sang from the cave; 

Or slid with the moonbeams down deep to the grove 
Of coral, “ where mullet and gold fish rove 










BIRTH - NIGHT OF THE HUMMING BIRDS. 55 

How there, in long vistas of silence and sleep, 

They waltzed, as if mocking the death of the deep: 

How oft, where the wreck lay scattered and torn, 

They peeped in the skull, now ghastly and lorn, 

Or deep, ’mid wild rocks, quizzed the goggling shark. 

And mouthed at the sea-wolf so solemn and stark — 

Each seeming to think that the earth and the sea 

Were made but for fairies — for gambol and glee! 

Enough, that at last, they came to the isle, 

Where moonlight and fragrance were rivals the while. 

Not yet had those vessels from Palos been here, 

To turn the bright gem to the blood-mingled tear; 

0 no! still blissful and peaceful the land, 

And the merry elves flew from the sea to the strand. 

Right happy and joyous seemed now the bright crew, 

As they tripped ’mid the orange groves flashing in dew, 

For they were to hold a revel that night — 

A gay, fancy ball, and each to be dight 

In the gem or the flower that fancy might choose 

From mountain or vale, for its fragrance or hues. 

IV. 

Away sped the maskers like arrows of light, 

To gather their gear for the revel bright. 

To the dazzling peaks of far-off 1 Peru, 

In emulous speed, some sportively flew; 

And deep in the mine, or ’mid glaciers on high, 

For ruby and sapphire searched heedful and sly. 

For diamonds rare that gleam in the bed 

Of Brazilian streams, some merrily sped ; 

While others for topaz and emerald stray, 

’Mid the cradle cliffs of the Paraguay. 

As these are gathering the rarest of gems, 

Others are plucking the rarest of stems: 

They range wild dells, where the zephyr alone 

To the blushing blossoms before was known ; 













56 THE HUMMING BIRDS. 

Through forests they fly, whose branches are hung 
By creeping plants, with fair flowerets strung — 

Where temples of nature with arches of bloom 
Are lit by the moonlight, and faint with perfume: 

They stray where the mangrove and clematis twine, 
Where azalia and laurel in rivalry shine; 

Where, tall as the oak, the passion-tree glows, 

And jasmine is blent with rhodora and rose. 

O’er blooming savannas and meadows of light, 

’Mid regions of summer, they sweep in their flight, 

And gathering the fairest, they speed to their bower, 
Each one with Ins favorite brilliant or flower. 

V. 

The hour has come, and the fairies are seen 
In their plunder arrayed on the moonlit green. 

The music is breathed — ’tis a soft strain of pleasure, 

And the light giddy throng whirl into the measure. 

’Twas a joyous dance, and the dresses were bright, 

Such as never were known till that famous night, 

For the gems and the flowers that shone in the scene, 
O’ermatclied the regalia of princess and queen. 

No gaudy slave to a fair one’s brow, 

Was the rose or the ruby or emerald now; 

But lighted with souls by the playful elves, 

The brilliants and blossoms seemed dancing themselves. 

VI. 

Of all that did chance, ’twere a long tale to tell, 

Of the dresses and waltzes, and who was the belle; 

But each was so happy, and all were so fail - , 

That night stole away, and the dawn caught them there 1 
Such a scampering never before was seen, 

As the fairies’ flight, on that island green : 










BIRTH-NIGHT OF THE HUMMING BIRDS. 57 

They rushed to the buy with twinkling feet, 

But vain was their haste, for the moonlight fleet 

Ilad passed with the dawn, and never again 

Were these fairies permitted to traverse the main — 

But ’mid the groves, when the sun was high, 

The Indian marked with a worshiping eye, 

The humming birds, all unknown before, 

Glancing like thoughts from flower to flower, 

And seeming as if earth’s loveliest things 

The brilliants and blossoms, had taken wings: 

And Fancy hath whispered, in numbers light, 

That these are the fairies who danced that night, 

And linger yet in the garb they wore, 

Content in our clime, and more blest than before! 














THE CROCODILE. 



in the Nile, in the most ancient times, and at an early 
period became mingled in the superstitions of the Egyptians. 
Herodotus, who traveled in Egypt about 450 C. C., thus speaks 


of it: 

“ The crocodile, which during the four severer months of winter 
eats nothing, is a quadruped, but amphibious : it is also oviparous, 
and deposits its eggs in the sand. The greater part of the day it 

[58] 




















THE CROCODILE. 59 

spends on shore; but all the night in the water, as being warmer 
than the external air, whose cold is increased by the dew. No 
animal that I have seen and known, from being at first so re¬ 
markably diminutive, grows to so vast a size. The eggs are not 
larger than those of geese : on leaving the shell, the young are 
proportionally small, but when arrived at its full size it is some¬ 
times more than seventeen cubits in length. It has eyes like a 
hog, teeth large and prominent in proportion to its body, but, 
unlike all other animals, it has no tongue. It is further most 
singularly distinguished by only moving its upper jaw. Its feet 
are armed with strong fangs ; the skin is protected by hard scales, 
regularly divided. In the open air its sight is remarkably acute, 
but it cannot see well in the water. Living in the water, its 
throat is always full of leeches : beasts and birds universally 
avoid it, the trochilus only excepted, which, from a sense of 
gratitude, it treats with kindness. When the crocodile leaves 
the water, it reclines itself on the sand, and generally toward the 
west, _with its mouth open : the trochilus, entering its throat, 
destroys the leeches; in acknowledgement for which service it 
never does the bird any injury. 

“ The crocodile, by many of the Egyptians is esteemed sacred ; 
by others, it is treated as an enemy. They who live near Thebes 
and the lake Moeris, hold it in religious veneration : they select 
one which they render tame and docile, and suspend golden 
ornaments from its ears, and sometimes gems of value: the fore 
feet are secured by a chain. They feed it with the flesh of the 
sacred victims, and with other appointed food. While it lives 
they treat it with unceasing attention; and when it dies, it is first 
embalmed, and afterwards deposited in a sacred chest. 

“ On the other hand, they who live in or near Elephantine, so 
far from considering these beasts as sacred, make them an article 
of food.” 

This account, written twenty-three centuries ago, has been in 
most respects confirmed by abundant observations in modern 
times. The pretty story of the trochilus, appears to be fabulous; 











60 THE CROCODILE. 

if a bird is sometimes seen to enter the crocodile’s mouth, it is 
probably by accident or mistake, and not from any such good- 
fellowship as Herodotus supposes. As to the veneration of this 
animal by the Egyptians, there is no doubt: millions of them have 
been found embalmed in the tombs. Other ancient authors tell us 
that these creatures were so much petted, as to be feasted with 
cake, roast meat, and mulled wine poured down their throats. 
Such deification cannot be wondered at among a people who 
worshiped bulls, provided indeed that, on a careful examination 
by their priests, there was not a black hair on their bodies, and 
no blemishes on their tongues, and the hair of their tails all 
grown in its natural form and place : and who, furthermore, held 
cats, serpents, and monkeys to be sacred, and embalmed and 
buried their bodies as such ! 

Nor is even this the whole of the ancient history of the crocodile. 
About the year 120 B. C., five of these creatures were publicly 
exhibited to the wondering citizens of Rome. In the time of 
Augustus, thirty-six of them were displayed at once in the 
amphitheater. These were attacked by gladiators, and after a 
furious combat, all were slain. 

The manner in which this formidable animal struck the ima¬ 
gination of the ancients, is evinced by the writer of the book of 
Job, in which it is thus spoken of, chap, xli., 1, etc.: 

“ Canst thou draw out leviathan with a hook, or his tongue 
with a cord which thou lettest down ? Canst thou put a hook 
into his nose, or boro his jaw through with a thorn? Will he 
make many supplications unto thee; will he speak soft words 
unto thee? Wilt thou play with him as with a bird; or wilt 
thou bind him for thy maidens ? 

“Who can open the doors of his face? His teeth are terrible 
round about. His scales arc his pride, shut up together as with 
a close seal. One is so near to another that no air can come 
between them. By his ncesings a light dotli shine, and his eyes 
arc like the eyelids of the morning. Out of his mouth go burning 
lamps, and sparks of fire leap out. Out of his nostrils goeth 








THE CROCODILE. 61 

smoko, as out of a seething pot or cauldron. His breath kindleth 
coals, and a flame goeth out of his mouth. In his neck remaincth 
strength, and sorrow is turned into joy before him. His heart 
is as firm as a stone, yea, as hard as a piece of the nether mill¬ 
stone.” 

# 

At the present day, the crocodile is comparatively scarce in the 
lower parts of the Nile; but in the higher portions, it is in many 
places abundant. The same species is found in other parts of 
Africa, and its natural history is now well known. The gavial 
of the Ganges, and the alligator of America, are of the same 
family ; but they arc different species, and of less formidable 
strength and habits. 

With the exception of the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the 
hippopotamus, the bulk of the crocodile perhaps exceeds that of 
every terrestrial animal ; no fishes frequenting fresh water equal 
it, and but a few species of those belonging to the seas. The 
largest are not less than thirty feet in length, and one of only 
half'that size is five feet in circumference. The body stands low 
on the ground, and the animal universally presents a dull and 
sluggish aspect. Nevertheless, its motions in pursuit of prey are 
not slow, and the difficulty which it finds in turning is the surest 
means of escape on land ; its agility in water is infinitely greater. 

These facts are better illustrated when tho animal is roused to 
action. Its natural abode is in the water ; for scarcely one fourth 
of its existence is passed upon the earth. The muddy edges and 
thick reeds of slow and tranquil streams, arc its favorite haunts, 
and it sometimes descends rivers to within the flowing of the tide. 
On leaving them, it always advances with a slow pace, nearly in 
a straight line, its belly frequently dragging on the ground, and 
its head commonly elevated before it. However, it is seldom 
seen standing; and its chief enjoyment seems to be lying in a 
state of absolute quiescence. When in pursuit of prey, it swims 
gently and silently, just on a level with the water, until it ap¬ 
proaches the place where some terrestrial animal comes to quench 
its thirst. Then, curving its tail, it strikes it a violent blow. 













62 THE CROCODILE. 

which is invariably in the direction of the water, and, at the 
same time, towards its own month. 

Should the animal surprised be of large size, such as an ox or a 
horse, the crocodile adopts another manoeuvre in seizing it by the 
nostrils, and forcibly dragging it under the water to be drowned. 
When a tortoise is taken, the crocodile raises its head above 
water, and with the inconceivable strength of its jaws crushes the 
shell in pieces. Men, and particularly negroes, are said to be its 
favorite prey, and it is greedy after the flesh of dogs; hence, the 
negroes that hunt the crocodile are accustomed to beat the dogs 
on purpose that their howling may attract it from its haunts. 
The prey being drowned, is conveyed to some sub-aquatic hole or 
receptacle, and left to putrefy before it is devoured. But the 
crocodile cannot feed in the water ; therefore, except small fishes, 
the prey is always carried to the land. 

Its structure is such, that it must rise to the surface once in an 
hour, or hour and a half, for breathing. Nothing that it once 
seizes can escape; it never quits its hold. Even strong levers 
forced between the jaws for that purpose, have proved ineffectual; 
and, shaking its prey to pieces, it is swallowed without mastica¬ 
tion. Much has been said of the stratagems employed by the 
crocodile to seize its prey: that it lies like a log on the banks of 
rivers, or floats inactive on the surface, and then springs forward 
whenever the victim comes within its reach. This may be partly 
true, though it appears under many exaggerations; for it is well 
authenticated, that it remains motionless until considerable objects 
are quite close and evidently within its reach, when it leaps upon 
them. The agility of the crocodile is not so great, even when in 
pursuit of prey, that a man may not escape at tolerable speed, 
more especially by frequent deviation from the straight path. 
The blow with the tail, suddenly given, is principally to be 
dreaded. 

It is well known that crocodiles are not so numerous in the 
lower parts of the Nile, as they were in ancient times; the few 
that do appear are now not much dreaded there, but farther up 









THE CROCODILE. 


63 


the river, where the climate is warmer, they are still numerous 
and dangerous. Lord Prudhoe, while traveling in Sennaar, 
between the Black and White Nile, found that they were much 
more formidable : during his sojourn in the country, several of 
the natives were carried olf by them, and the banks of the 
river were in many places so musky in their smell as to be very 
offensive. 

Crocodiles are oviparous, and the eggs are but small in pro¬ 
portion to their size, not being quite so large as those of a goose. 
These are, as is the case with reptiles generally, equally thick at 
both ends ; they are covered with an envelope, which hardens in 
the air, but it contains very little carbonate of lime. The males 
are more numerous than the females, and fierce battles ensue 
between them in the pairing time. These battles of gallantry arc 
generally decided in the water, and they are accompanied by the 
most dismal bellowings that can possibly lie imagined : the noise 
is said to resemble both that of the bull and the bittern, but to be 
much louder, and more dismal and husky than either. 

The female digs a cavity in the earth, in which she places her 
eggs, in a circular form, in successive layers, and with portions of 
earth between, the whole being afterwards covered up. This 
nest is generally placed in a dry hillock, and the earth is 
gathered up, so that, on the average, the eggs are about ten inches 
below the surface. This being clone, the mother abandons them 
to be hatched by the heat of the sun; yet instinct prompts her 
frequently to revisit the spot, as the term of exclusion approaches. 
She then testifies uncommon agitation, roaming about the place, 
and uttering a peculiar growling, as if to awaken her hideous 
offspring to animation. The period of maturity being at length 
attained, the nascent crocodiles answer to her solicitude by a 
.kind of yelping, like puppies. A hollow murmur, in return, 
denotes her satisfaction; and she hastens to scrape up the earth 
with such anxiety, that several of the young are generally crushed 
beneath her unwieldy body. 

Havin' 1- withdrawn them from their nest, the mother leads them 

















64 THE CROCODILE. 

straightway to the neighboring water ; but now, her utmost 
vigilance is required for their preservation, for, unlike the instinct 
with which she is animated, the male, silently approaching, will 
frequently devour them before she is aware of their danger. He 
perpetually seeks their destruction, and the watch of the female 
over her young is protracted for three months from their first 
appearance. An opinion is prevalent that the crocodile continues 
growing during its whole existence ; that it lives to a great age; 
and that the utmost limits of its size are at least fifty feet. 

In its earlier stage, we have seen that it is liable to perish 
either from being crushed to death by the female, or devoured 
by the male. A species of tortoise frequenting the Nile makes 
incredible havoc among the young. The hostility of the ichumenon 
has been related from times of remote antiquity, and though we 
cannot agree that it proves destructive of the crocodile itself, we 
at least know that it devours the eggs. In this manner, the 
numbers of so formidable a creature, when less capable of defence, 
arc diminished ; but after having attained its utmost power, 
different means repress its voracity, and other enemies arc on the 
watch for its destruction. Although the crocodile drags its prey 
under water to extinguish life, we have already remarked that it 
must resort to shallows, or the land, to feed upon it. In like 
manner, when attacked by the sword-fish or shark, it is easily 
vanquished; for on opening its mouth in resistance, a torrent of 
water rushes in, and it is drowned. Of all the enemies, however, 
which the crocodile has to dread, the most inveterate is man. 
By a perpetual and sanguinary war carried on against it in almost 
every country, and by the various devices adopted for its capture, 
the race is prodigiously reduced. But it is no easy matter to 
overcome an animal of such enormous strength, and whose hide 
is generally impenetrable by a leaden musket-ball. It is, however, 
more vulnerable in the belly; and a bullet discharged down the 
throat, or into the eyes, is fatal. Even harpoons or spears will 
penetrate the body and inflict mortal wounds, if thrown by a 
skilful hand. 









THE CROCODILE. (J5 

The alligators, being distributed over the warm parts of our 
own continent, we are more familiar with than with the crocodiles; 
yet, from their peculiar characteristics, they are unceasing objects 
of interest. They are ungainly and even ugly animals; but they 
are not naturally ferocious. They kill only to eat, and they kill 
but one at a time. If, indeed, the prey is so tough that they 
cannot break it by the pressure of the jaws, they take it under 
water, and bury it there till it becomes softened by partial 
putrefaction. In these cases, the same unquenched hunger sends 
them to look for more; and they continue the process till they 
can meet with something which can be eaten immediately. No 
reptiles masticate, or grind their food ; and few, if any, give it a 
second bite. The jaws of the alligator close like the sides of a 
spring trap; and if they do not enclose the whole of the prey, 
the only way that the animal has of detaching the portion which 
they do seize, in order to swallow it, is by shaking it; and when 
they are unable to accomplish this, they bury it under water in 
the manner which has been stated. 

During the heat of the day, alligators either lie stretched and 
languid on the banks, or in the mud, on the shores of the rivers 
and lagoons which are their favorite haunts; and as the other 
natives of these localities—the winged ones that sport in the sun 
excepted—are generally at rest at these times, the consequence 
is that during the day they capture but few animals excepting 
such as wander near them. They sometimes, however, are put 
into motion during the heat and the drought, by that singular 
wave called the “ bore,” which is often very high and violent 
in its agitations in the level-bedded rivers of warmer climates. 

Heavy and strong as the full-grown alligators are, the force of 
the bore rolls them powerless before it, and they rattle against 
each other and bellow in such a manner as to increase the noise 
and confusion. There is no bore in the bays or lagoons, and 
none in the rivers above the first rapid, even though that is an 
inconsiderable one ; and thus, during the hot and sunny days, the 
alligators in these are at peace. When evening comes, however, 
5 











-- f— - 1 

(JO THE CROCODILE. 

they begin to move, and the roaring of the larger ones is terrific. 

It is a compound of the sounds of the bull and the bittern, but 
far louder than either, and it grates and shivers on the ear as if 
the ground were shaking. Whether it produces any effect upon 
the prey of the alligators, in making that prey disclose itself by 
its efforts to escape, is not known; and indeed, harsh and tenific 
as it is, it seems not only to be the common noise of the reptiles, 
but also their love song, which they emit frequently and freely in 
the pairing season. 

The history of the pairing is not very complete, but there are 
some reasons for concluding that they are polygamous. The 
males engage in fierce conflicts at that season, and not, as has 
been observed, at any other; the fair inference therefore is, that 
these arc battles of gallantry. They usually take place in the 
water, though in the shallows rather than the depths. When 
they combat with their teeth, the contest is desperate, and the 
death of one, sometimes of both, is inevitable. It has already 
been said that the alligator can give no second bite, and as little 
is it disposed to leave the first one, till the object which it seizes 
is fairly under water. The jaws close in the same manner as 
those of the “ biting turtles,” and they can with difficulty be 
wrenched asunder even by a lever of considerable length. 















INDIAN LEGENDS. 


L LONGFELLOW’S poem of Hiawatha, Las awakened 
n _ | ^ very general interest in the legends of the Indians, 
' v y and most persons are surprised, on inquiry, to find how 
much of imagination and sentiment are to be found in these 
relics of the tribes now passed or passing away. Everybody 
has read and admired the tales of Cooper, and others of his 
school, who impute to the savages of the forest, the romantic 

[ 67 ] 









































68 INDIAN LEGENDS. 

sentiment and chivalrous conduct of artificial lilc ; hut nobody 
really believed these things to be true. The character ol the 
Indian, as presented by history, is exceedingly bald, affording only 
a few strong lights and shadows, such as befit a savage hunter and 
warrior. And this view is confirmed by his personal appearance, 
which is that of a being who is wholly occupied with sensible 
things. His eye is keen and watchful, like that of the tiger, but 
it has no depth : it sees all that is without and around, but it 
does not seem to reflect a world of thought within—that world 
which, to the soul of civilized man, is as real and as boundless as 
the visible universe. We are, therefore, somewhat surprised when 
we discover the fact that the Indians really have a mythology, 
and that they have their poems, fables, proverbs and allegories. 

For this knowledge, we arc chiefly indebted to the intelligent 
and untiring labors of Mr. Schoolcraft, which have been given 
to the public in several interesting and instructive volumes. 
It is from these Mr. Longfellow chiefly derived not only the 
substance of his story of Hiawatha, but the machinery and the 
episodes of his remarkable poem. It is, however, curious to 
remark that, before the appearance of this work, the public had 
received Mr. Schoolcraft’s Indian revelations with coldness, 
either because they were distrusted, or because they appeared 
barbarous and repulsive. But the kind of artistic sorcery by 
which the poet has unfolded a soul in these mystic legends, 
and still more, the amazing skill with which he has woven the 
hard and guttural sounds of the Indian tongue into mellifluous 
verse—making words that were before revolting to the ear, now 
musical as the songs of birds and waterfalls—have endowed these 
topics with ah irresistible charm. It is probable that the early 
heroes of Greece —Hercules, Theseus, and the rest—were not 
very different from our Black Hawks and Tecumseiis ; their 
first annalists, their Schoolcrafts, telling the simple truth, it 
may be supposed, furnished only a rugged outline of the life and 
action of those early days, it being reserved for the Hesiods and 
the Homers— the Longfellows of that age—to elevate individuals 









INDIAN LEGENDS. 69 

into heroes and gods, to till the sea with Nereids, and the woods 
with Fauns; to breathe religion into the actions of man, to subdue 
the rough accents of savages, and convert their language into a 
worthy vehicle for the story of Ulysses and Achilles, for the 
songs of Anacreon and the sonnets of Sappho. 

Since the appearance of Hiawatha, Mr. Schoolcraft has 
published a volume, presenting’in a condensed form the principal 
portion of his Indian legends. With the new vision which the 
poet has bestowed, these are read with intense interest. One fact, 
creditable alike to the historian and the bard, will strike every 
mind, and that is the general outline of truth which pervades 
the poem, not only in the story of Hiawatha, but in all the 
illustrations and embellishments of the talc. In thought, senti¬ 
ment, scenery, costume, habits and customs, the work is consistent: 
it is all Indian, all savage; and yet, let us add, it is all human— 
it is humanity in its childhood. 

Of the legend which forms the basis of Longfellow’s poem, 
as received by the Western tribes, Mr. Schoolcraft gives the 
following account: 

“ The myth of the Indians of a remarkable personage, who is 
called Manabozho by the Algonquins, and Hiawatha by the 
Iroquois, who was the instructor of the tribes in art and knowledge, 
was first related to me in 1822, by the Chippewas of Lake Superior. 
He is regarded as the messenger of the Great Spirit, sent down 
to them in the character of a wise man and a prophet. But he 
comes clothed with all the attributes of humanity, as well as 
the power of performing miraculous deeds. He adapts himself 
perfectly to their manners, and customs, and ideas. He is brought 
up, from a child, among them. 

“He is made to learn their mode of life. He takes a wife, 
builds a lodge, hunts and fishes like the rest of them; sings his 
war songs and medicine songs, goes to war, lias his triumphs, has 
his friends and foes, suffers, wants, hungers, is in dread or joy— 
and, in fine, undergoes all the vicissitudes of his fellows. His 
miraculous gifts and powers arc always adapted to his situation. 










70 


INDIAN LEGENDS. 


When he is swallowed by a great fish, with his canoe, he escapes 
by the exertion of these powers; but always as much as possible 
in accordance with Indian maxims and means. He is provided 
with a magic canoe, which goes where it is bid ; yet, in his fight 
with the great wampum prince, lie is counseled by a wood-pecker 
to know where the vulnerable point of his antagonist lies. He 
rids the earth of monsters and giants, and clears away wind-falls, 
and obstructions to the navigation of streams. But he does not 
do these feats by miracles; he employs strong men to help him. 
When he means to destroy the great serpents, he changes himself 
into an old tree, and stands on the beach till they come out of the 
water to bask in the sun. Whatever man could do in strength 
or wisdom, he could do. But he never does things above the 
comprehension or belief of his people; and whatever else he is, 
he is always true to the character of an Indian. 

'■ This myth is one of the most general in the Indian country: 
it is the prime legend of their mythology. He is talked of in 
every winter lodge—for the winter season is the only time devoted 
to such narrations. The moment the leaves come out, stories 
cease in the lodge. The period of spring in the botanical world, 
opens, as it were, so many eyes and ears to listen to the tales of 
men; and the Indian is far too shrewd a man, and too firm a 
believer in the system of invisible spirits by which he is surrounded, 
to commit himself by saying a word which they, with their acute 
senses on the opening of the spring, can be offended at. , 

“ He leaps over extensive regions of country, like an ignis 
fatuns. He appears suddenly like an avatar, or saunters over 
weary wastes, a poor and starving hunter. His voice is at one 
moment deep and sonorous as a thunder-clap, and at another 
clothed with the softness of feminine supplication. Scarcely any 
two persons agree in all the minor circumstances of the story, and 
scarcely any omit the leading traits. The several tribes who 
speak dialects of the mother language from which the narrative 
is taken, difier in like manner from each other, in the particulars 
of his exploits. His birth and parentage are mysterious. Story 

































INDIAN LEGENDS. 


71 


says his grandmother was the daughter of the moon. Having 
been married but a short time, her rival attracted her to a grape¬ 
vine swing on the banks of a lake, and by one bold exertion 
pitched her into its center, from which she fell through to the 
earth. Having a daughter, the fruit of her lunar marriage, she 
was careful to instruct her from early infancy, against certain 
snares that might beset- her. This good couifsel was at some 
subsequent period of her life forgotten, and she thus became the 
victim of the seductive arts of the mighty Ningabiun, or the 
West Wind.” 

The reader need not lie reminded of the similarity between 
this delineation and that of the poem of Hiawatha: the latter is, 
in truth, a poetic amplification of the historical legend. The 
embellishments of the poem are alike truthful, either in their 
particular incidents or their general outline. Even when the story 
is aided by invention, the scenery is true to nature. Thus, while 
Hiawatha’s wooing, as was meet and proper, is invested with 
a little romance not found in the books, the name of his bride 
is derived from an actual locality, and the charm of one of 
the most beautiful objects in natural scenery is thus associated 
with her birth and character. The cascade of Minnehaha, being, 
in fact, the Little Falls of St. Anthony, near Fort Snelling, has 
long been noted for its surpassing* beauty. Even the savages 
have been struck with its charms, and have given it a name which 
signifies Laughing Water. The scenery around is charming. 
With what admirable tact does the poet connect this delicious 
scene with his story : 

“ Only once his pace he slackened, 

Only once he paused or halted, 

Paused to purchase heads of arrows 
Of the ancient arrow maker, 

In the land of the Dacotahs, 

Where the falls of Minnehaha 
Flash and gleam among the oak trees, 

Laugh and leap into the valley. 


























72 INDIAN LEGENDS. 

“ There the ancient arrow maker 
Makes his arrow heads of sandstone, 

Arrow heads of chalcedony, 

Arrow heads of flint and jasper, 

Smoothed and sharpened at the edges, 

Hard and polished, keen and costly. 

“With him dwelt his dark-eyed daughter, 
Wayward as the Minnehaha, 

With her moods of shade and sunshine; 

Eyes that smiled and frowned alternate, 

Feet as rapid as the river, 

Tresses flowing like the water, 

And as musical a laughter; 

And he named her from the river, 

From the water-fall lie named her, 

Minnehaha, Laughing Water. 

“Was it here for heads-of arrows, 

Arrow heads of chalcedony, 

Arrow heads of flint and jasper, 

That my Hiawatha halted 
In the land of the Dacotahs? 

“ Was it not to see the maiden, 

See the face of Laughing Water, 

Peeping from behind the curtain, 

Hear the rustling of her garments 
From behind the waving curtain, 

As we see the Minnehaha 

Gleaming, glancing through the branches, 

As one hears the Laughing Water 
From behind its screen of branches? ” 

The personification and deification of the powers of nature is 
common to all races of men, in the infancy of society. This is 
especially manifest in the Indian myths. Among the principal 











INDIAN LEGENDS. 


73 


heroes of the poem of Hiawatha, are, therefore, the four winds. 
One of them, Wabun, the East Wind, seems to be a sort of 
Aurora, and is thus beautifully described in the poem: 

“ Young and beautiful was Wabun; 

He it was who brought the morning, 
lie it was whose silver arrows 
Chased the dark o’er hill and valley; 
lie it was whose cheeks were painted 
With the brightest streaks of crimson, 

And whose voice awoke the village, 

Called the deer, and called the hunter. 


“ Lonely in the sky was Wabun; 
Though the birds sang gayly to him, 
Though th<3 wild-flowers of the meadow 
Filled the air with odors for him, 
Though the forests and the rivers 
Sang and shouted at his coming, 

Still his heart was sad within him, 

For he was alone in heaven. 


“ But one morning, gazing eastward, 
While the village still was sleeping, 
And the fog lay on the river, 

Like a ghost that goes at sunrise, 

He beheld a maiden walking 
All alone, upon a meadow, 

Gathering water-flags and rushes 
By a river in the meadow. 

“Every morning, gazing eastward, 
Still the first thing he beheld there, 
Was her blue eyes looking at him, 
Two blue lakes among the rushes; 












74 


INDIAN LEGENDS. 


And he loved the lonely maiden 
Who thus waited for his coming; 

For they both were solitary— 

She on earth, and he in heaven. 

“And he wooed her with caresses, 
Wooed her with his smile of sunshine, 
With his flattering words lie wooed her, 
With his sighing and his singing, 
Gentlest whispers in the branches, 

Softest music, sweetest odors— 

Till he drew her to his bosom, 

Folded in his robes of crimson— 

Till into a star he changed her, 
Trembling still upon his bosom; 

And for ever in the heavens 
They are seen together walking, 

Wabun and the Wabun-Annung, 

Wabun and the Star of Morning. 


One of the favorite forms in which Indian lore presents itself 
in Mr. Schoolcraft’s work, is that of allegory. The following 
is one of these fanciful, but still moral and instructive compo¬ 
sitions : 


Site ®olf-^rotbtr. 

A solitary lodge stood on the banks of a remote lake. It was 
near the hour of sunset. Silence reigned within and without. 
Not a sound was heard but the low breathing of the dying inmate 
and head of this poor family. His wife and three children sur¬ 
rounded his bed. Two of the latter were almost grown up : the 
other was a mere child. All their simple skill in medicine had 
been exhausted to no effect. They moved about the lodge in 
whispers, and were waiting the departure of the spirit. As one 






















4 



THE WOLF-BROTHER. 75 


of the last acts of kindness, the skin-door of the lodge had been 
thrown back to admit the fresh air. The poor man felt a mo¬ 
mentary return of strength, and raising himself a little, addressed 
his family : 

“ I leave you in a world of care, in which it has required all 
my strength and skill to supply you with food, and protect you 
from the storms and cold of a severe climate. For you, my 
partner in life, I have less sorrow in parting, because I am per¬ 
suaded you will not remain long behind, me, and will therefore 
find the period of your sufferings short. But you, my children, 
my poor and forsaken children, who have just begun the career 
of life, who will protect you from its evils? Listen to my words. 
Unkindness, ingratitude and every wickedness is in the scene before 
you. It is for this cause that years ago, I withdrew from my kin¬ 
dred and my tribe, to spend my days in this lonely spot. I have 
contented myself with the company of your mother and yourselves 
during seasons of very frequent scarcity and want, while your 
kindred, feasting in a scene where food is plenty, have caused the 
forests to echo with the shouts of successful war. I gave up 
these things for the enjoyment of peace. I wished to shield you 
from the bad examples you would inevitably have followed. I 
have seen you thus far grow up in innocence. If we have some¬ 
times suffered bodily want, we have escaped pain of mind. We 
have at least been kept from scenes of rioting and bloodshed. 

“ My career is now at its close. I will shut my eyes in peace, 
if you, my children, will promise me to cherish each other. Let 
not your mother suffer the few days that are left to her ; and I 
charge you on no account to forsake your youngest brother—of 
him I give you both my dying charge to take a tender care.” He 
sank exhausted on his pallet. The family waited a moment as if 
expecting to hear something further, but when they came to his 
side, the spirit had taken its flight. 

The mother and daughter gave vent to their feelings in lamenta¬ 
tions. The elder son witnessed the scene in silence. He soon 
exerted himself to supply, with bow and net, his father’s place. 








































76 INDIAN LEGENDS. 

Time, however, wore away heavily. Five moons had filled and 
waned, and the sixth was near its full, when the mother also died. 

In her last moments, she pressed the fulfilment of their promise 
to their father, which the children readily received, because they 
were yet free from selfish motives. 

The winter passed, and the spring, with its enlivening effects 
in a northern hemisphere, cheered the drooping spirits of the 
bereft family. The girl, being the eldest, dictated to her brothers, 
and seemed to feel a tender and sisterly affection for the youngest, 
who was rather sickly and delicate. The elder boy soon showed 
symptoms of restlessness and ambition, and addressed the sister 
as follows : 

“ My sister, are we always to live as if there were no other 
human beings in the world ? Must I deprive myself of the pleas¬ 
ure of associating with my own kind ? I have determined this 
question for myself; I shall seek the villages of men. and you can¬ 
not prevent me.” 

The sister replied, “ I do not say no, my brother, to what you 
desire. We are not prohibited the society of our fellow mortals, 
but we arc told to cherish each other, and to do nothing indepen¬ 
dent of each other. Neither pleasure nor pain ought therefore 
to separate us, especially from our younger brother, who, being 
but a child, and weakly withal, is entitled to a double share of 
our affection. If we follow our separate gratification, it will 
surely make us neglect him, whom we are bound by vows, both to 
our father and mother, to support.” The young man received 
this address in silence. lie appeared daily to grow more restive 
and moody, and one day, taking his bow and arrows, left th. 
lodge and never returned. 

Affection nerved the sister’s arm. She was not so ignorant of 
the forest arts as to let her brother suffer from want. For a long 
time she administered to his necessities, and supplied a mother’s 
cares. A t length, however, she began to be weary of solitude and 
of her charge. No one came to be a Avitness of her assiduity, or 
to let fall a single word in her native language. Years which 













THE WOLF-BROTHER. 77 

added to her strength and capability of directing the affairs of the 
household, brought with them the irrepressible desire of society, 
and made solitude irksome. At this point, selfishness gained the 
ascendancy in her heart, for in meditating a change in her mode 
of life, she lost sight of her younger brother, and left him to be 
provided for by contingencies. 

One day, after collecting all the provisions she had been able to 
save for emergencies, and after bringing a quantity of wood to 
the door, she said to her little brother : “ My brother, you must 
not stray from the lodge. I am going to seek our elder brother: 
I shall be back soon.'’ Then taking her bundle, she set off in 
search of other habitations. She soon found them, and was so 
much taken up with the pleasures and amusements of social life, 
that the thought of her brother was almost wholly obliterated. 
She accepted proposals of marriage, and after that, thought still 
less of her helpless and abandoned relative. 

Meantime, her elder brother had also married, and lived on the 
shores of the same lake whose ample circuit contained the aban¬ 
doned lodge of his father and his forsaken brother. The latter 
was soon brought to the pinching turn of his fate. -As soon as 
lie had eaten all the food left by his sister, he was obliged to pick 
berries, and dig up roots. These were finally covered up by the 
snow. Winter came on with all its rigors. He was obliged to quit 
the lodge in search of other food. Sometimes he passed the night 
in the clefts of old trees or caverns, and ate the refuse meals of 
the wolves. The latter at last became his only resource ; and he 
became so fearless of these animals, that he would sit close by 
them while they devoured their prey. The wolves, on the other 
hand, became so familiar with his face and form, that they were 
undisturbed by his approach, and, appearing to sympathize with 
him in his outcast condition, would always leave something for 
his repast. In this way he lived till spring. As soon as the lake 
was free from ice, he followed his new-found friends to the shore. 
It happened the same day, that his elder brother was fishing in 
his canoe a considerable distance out in the lake, when he thought 










78 


INDIAN LEGENDS. 


lie heard the cries of a child on the shore, and wondered how any 
one could exist on so bleak and barren a part of the coast. He 
listened again attentively, and distinctly heard the cry repeated. 
He made for the shore as quickly as possible, and as he ap¬ 
proached the land, discovered and recognized his little brother, 
and heard him singing in a plaintive voice— 


“ Neesia—neesia— 

Shyegwuh goosuli! 

Ni my een gwun iewli! 

Ni my een gwun iewli! 

Heo liwooli! ” 

The meaning of which is, 

“ My brother—my brother— 

Ah ! see—I am turning into a wolf! " 


At the termination of his song, which was drawn out with a 
peculiar cadence, lie howled like a wolf. The elder brother was 
still more astonished, when, getting nearer the land, he perceived 
his poor brother partly transformed into that animal. He imme¬ 
diately leaped on shore, and strove to catch him in his arms, 
soothingly saying, “ My brother, my brother, come to me.” But 
the boy eluded his grasp, crying as lie fled, “ Neesia, neesia,” Ac., 
and howling in the intervals. 

The elder brother, conscience stricken, and feeling his brotherly 
affection return with redoubled force, exclaimed in great anguish, 
“ My brother, my brother, my brother! ” 

But the nearer he approached, the more rapidly the transforma¬ 
tion went on ; the boy alternately singing and howling, and call¬ 
ing out the name, first of his brother and then of his sister, till 
the change was completely accomplished, when lie exclaimed, “ I 
am a wolf! ” and bounded out of sight. 




































THE RAT THAT WENT FISHING. 

t RAT, with greedy appetite, 

Went fishing with his tail one night : 

He once had seen a fox do that, 

And if a fox, why not a rat ? 

For lie is surely quite as knowing 
As any other beast that’s going. 

/ 

Cocking his eye in fond conceit 
That he knew fish as well as meat, 

He silent sat upon the shore, 

And bobbed for half an hour or more. 

At last, a hungry bite he felt, 

And deemed it roach, or perch, or smelt : 

Eager, yet cautious, did lie wait 
To let his prey grasp well the bait ; 

Then, like a fisher, skilled and nice, 

He jerked : but lo ! as in a vice 
Ilis. tail stuck fast, and, strange as true, 

The more he pulled, the worse it grew ! 

[79] 






























80 THE RAT THAT WENT FISHING. 

This way and that, in vain lie turned— 

In vain he jerked, and jumped, and squirmed— 
In vain he yelled with pain and grief— 

In vain cried murder, fire, and thief! 

In vain ; for lo ! an oyster vast, 

Had caught his tail, and held it fast! 

At length, the rat perceived the case, 

And putting on a smiling face— 

Staying the while his tears and groans, 

Though pain and terror thrilled his bones— 
Addressed the oyster thus : “ My friend, 

Here’s some mistake ; my latter end 
Was never made for feast or fete— 

I only put it in for bait; 

And as you’ve ta’en it, I opine 
That you are caught, and so are mine : 

I pray you, therefore, oyster tender, 

Just come ashore, and thus surrender.” 

The oyster answered not a wink, 

But in the wave began to sink ; 

Down, down, by slow degrees he went 
To the wild rocks, in sheer descent, 

Dragging the rat, ’mid cries of slaughter, 
Beneath the “ dark and stormy water.” 

He sank, and o’er him danced the bubbles, 

In mockery of all his troubles : 

Nothing was left but this his story, 

And the plain truth it sets before you. 

The cunning rat who apes the fox, 

And risks his tail among the rocks— 

Heedless of dangers, dark and awful, 
fn search of pleasures all unlawful— 









THE RAT THAT WENT FISHING. 81 

Is by a stupid oyster caught, 

And made the prey of him lie sought. 

Ye cunning human rats, beware— 

Unlawful pleasures should you dare 
To seek along the shores of sin— 

Lest some huge oyster pulls you in ! 

You doubt, and think me a reviler? 

Well, sirs, ask Huntington and Schuyler. 

0 











JERUSALEM. 


HIS, in many respects, is the most remarkable city in the 
world. It is older than Rome, and has been the scene 
of more astonishing events than Athens or Constantinople, 
or even Nineveh and Babylon. It was the city of David and 
Solomon': here Christ preached, and here he was crucified ; here 
Christianity had its beginning, and from this city its apostles 
went forth to Christianize the world : here were the dreadful 
massacres of Titus and the Crusaders. Jerusalem is at once the 
hope and the humiliation of the Jews: it is the Holy City of the 
Christians of all lands, and was formerly the proud capital of a 
great people: it is now a miserable and squalid town, whose 
whole importance lies in its relics of the past, and its associations 
with men and things which have passed away. 

What a strange contrast does this place, known to history for 
[ 82 ] 









































JERUSALEM. 83 

three thousand years, present, to the cities of America—New 
\ ork, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore—counting twenty or thirty 
times its present population, yet comprising hardly two centuries 
from the very beginning of their history! What a difference! 
and yet DA^ id and Solomon are likely to be remembered, when 
all the present inhabitants of our great cities are consigned to 
oblh ion. A brief historical notice of this extraordinary place, 
cannot fail to interest the reader. 

In the time of King David, it appears that the Jebusites had a 
considerable town and fortress, upon Mount Zion, named Jcbus ; it 
w as built upon a rocky and barren foundation, but possessed 
man) natural advantages for defence, and had also numerous 
springs and rivulets around it, as well as places of great fertility 
in the vicinity. In earlier ages it was said to have been the 
royal residence of Melchizedec, and to have had the title of 
Salem. Joab, David’s chief commander, captured this city, 1040 
L. C ., and here, on Mount Zion, David established the metropolis 
of his kingdom. Thus, he is generally regarded as the true 
founder of Jerusalem. 

Through the reigns of David and Solomon, this city wms the 
capital of the whole Jewish kingdom, and continued to increase 
in wealth and splendor. It v r as resorted to, at the festivals, 
by the wdiole population of the country ; and the pov r er and 
commercial spirit of Solomon, improving the advantages acquired 
by his father David, centered in it most of the eastern trade, both 
by sea, through the ports of Elatli and Ezion-Geber, and over¬ 
land, by the way of Tadmor and Palmyra. Or, at least, though 
Jerusalem might not have been made a general depot of merchan¬ 
dize, the quantity of precious metals flowdng into it by direct 
importation, and by duties imposed on goods passing to the ports 
of the Mediterranean, and in other directions, w r as unbounded. 

Some idea of the prodigious wealth of Jerusalem at this time, 
may be formed, by stating that the quantity of gold left by David 
for the use of the Temple, amounted to twenty-one million six 
hundred thousand pounds sterling, beside three million one 















84 JERUSALEM. 

hundred and fifty thousand pounds in silver; and Solomon 
obtained three million two hundred and forty thousand pounds in 
gold, by one voyage to Ophir; while silver was so abundant 
“ that it was not any thing accounted of.” These were the days 
of Jerusalem’s glory. Universal peace, unmeasured wealth, the 
wisdom and clemency of the prince, and the worship of the true 
God, marked Jerusalem above every city, as enjoying the presence 
and the especial favor of the Almighty. 

But these days were not to continue. Intestine divisions and 
foreign wars, wicked and tyrannical princes, and last of all, the 
crime of idolatry, most offensive to Heaven, and the one least 
to be expected amongst so favored a people, led to a series of 
calamities, through the long period of nine hundred years, with 
which no other city or nation can furnish a parallel. After the 
death of Solomon, ten of the twelve tribes revolted from his 
successor Reiioboam, and under Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, 
established a separate kingdom ; so that Jerusalem, no longer 
the capital of the whole empire, and its Temple frequented only 
by the tribes of Judah and Benjamin, must have experienced a 
mournful declension. 

Four years after, the city and Temple were taken and plundered 
by Shishak, king of Egypt. One hundred and forty-five years 
after, under Amaziah, they sustained the same fate from Joash, 
king of Israel. One hundred and sixty years from this period, 
the city was again taken by Esarhaddon, king of Assyria, and 
Manasseh, the king, was carried a prisoner to Babylon. Within 
the space of sixty-six years more, it was taken by Pharaoii-Neciio, 
king of Egypt, whom Josiah, king of Judah, had opposed in his 
expedition to Carchemish. In a battle with the Egyptians at 
Megiddo, Josiah was killed, and his son Eliakim was placed on 
the throne in his stead by Necho, who changed his name to 
Jehoiakim, and imposed a heavy tribute upon him, having sent 
his elder brother, Jehoahaz, who had been proclaimed king at 
Jerusalem, a prisoner to Egypt, where he died. 

Jerusalem was three times besieged and taken by Nebuchad- 












JERUSALEM. 


85 


nezzar, king of Babylon, within a very few years ; the first, in 
the reign of the last-mentioned king, Jehoiakim, who was sent a 
prisoner to Babylon, and the vessels of the Temple transported to 
the same city ; the second, in that of his son Jehoiachin, when 
all the treasures of the palace and the Temple, and the remainder 
of the vessels of the latter which had been hidden or spared in 
the recent capture, were carried away or destroyed, and the best 
of the inhabitants, with the king, led into captivity. The third 
took place in the reign of Zedekiah, the successor of Jehoiachin, 
in whose ninth year, the most formidable siege which this ill-fated 
city ever sustained, except that of Titus, was commenced. It 
continued two years, during a greater part of which the inhabi¬ 
tants suffered all the horrors of famine; when, on the ninth day 
of the fourth month, in the eleventh year of Zedekiah, which 
answers to July, in the year B. C. 588, the garrison, with the 
king, endeavored to make their escape from the city, but were 
pursued and defeated by the Chaldeans, in the plains of Jericho. 
Zedekiah was taken prisoner, and his sons killed before his face 
at Riblah. After his eyes were put out, he was himself bound 
with fetters of brass and carried prisoner to Babylon, where he 
died; thus fulfilling the prophecy of Ezekiel, which declared 
that he should be carried to Babylon, but should not see the place, 
though lie should die there. In the following month, the- Chaldean 
army, under their general Nebuzaradan, entered the city, took 
away every thing that was valuable, and then burned and utterly 
destroyed it, with its Temple and walls, and left the whole razed 
to the ground. The entire population of the city and country, 
with the exception of a few husbandmen, were then carried 
captive to Babylon. 

During seventy years, the city and Temple lay in ruins ; when 
those Jews who chose to take immediate advantage of the 
proclamation of Cyrus, under the conduct of Zerubbabel, re¬ 
turned to Jerusalem, and began to build the Temple; all the 
vessels of gold and silver belonging to which, that had been taken 
away by Nebuchadnezzar, being restored by Cyrus. Their 
































86 


JERUSALEM. 


work, however, did not proceed far without opposition; for in 
the reign of Cambyses, the son of Cyrus, who in Scripture is 
called Ahasuerus, the Samaritans presented a petition to that 
monarch to put a stop to the building. Cambyses appears to 
have been too busily engaged in Ids Egyptian expedition, to pay 
any attention to this malicious request. His successor, Smerdis, 
the Magian, who in Scripture is called Artaxerxes, to whom a 
similar petition was sent, representing the Jews as a factious and 
dangerous people, listened to it, and, in the true spirit of a 
usurper, issued a decree putting a stop to the further building of 
the Temple; which, in consequence, remained in an unfinished 
state till the second year, according to the Jewish, and third, 
according to the Babylonian and Persian account, of Darius 
Hystaspes, who is called simply Darius, in Scripture. 

To him, also, a representation hostile to the Jews was made, by 
their inveterate enemies, the Samaritans; but this noble prince 
refused to listen to it, and having searched the rolls of the 
kingdom, and found in the palace at Achmetha the decree of 
Cyrus, issued a similar oue, which reached Jerusalem in the 
subsequent year, and even ordered the Samaritans to assist the 
Jews in their work; so that it was completed in the sixth year 
of the same reign. But the city and walls remained in a ruinous 
condition until the twentieth year of Artaxerxes Longimanus, 
the Artaxerxes of profane history ; by whom Nehemiaii was sent 
to Jerusalem, with a power granted to him to rebuild them. 

Accordingly, under the direction of this zealous servant of God, 
the walls were speedily raised; but not without the accustomed 
opposition on the part of the Samaritans, who, despairing of the 
success of an application to the court of Persia, openly attacked 
the Jews with arms. But the building, notwithstanding, went 
steadily on, the men working with an implement of labor in 
one hand, and a weapon of war in the other. The wall, with 
incredible labor, was finished in fifty-two days, 445 B. C. After 
this, the city itself was gradually rebuilt. From this time, 
Jerusalem remained attached to the Persian empire, but under 


































JERUSALEM. 


87 


the local jurisdiction of the high-priests, until the subversion of 
the empire by Alexander, about 380 B. C. 

This conqueror, who appeared like a meteor suddenly crossing 
the heavens and startling all mankind, at last approached Judea. 
After a siege of some months, Tyre had been captured, eight 
thousand of the citizens falling in Ihc conflict, and thirty thousand 
being sold into slavery. Gaza, too, had been taken, after a siege 
of two months. The Jews had refused to supply the invader 
with money, and now lie marched upon Jerusalem to punish the 
people for their disobedience. The authorities seem to have 
adopted a measure of deep policy, and accordingly the high-priest. 
Jaddus, went forth to meet the conqueror, attended by a vast 
retinue of priests and people, bearing the imposing signs and 
symbols of the Jewish religion. Alexander seems to have been 
profoundly affected by the spectacle: he not only pardoned the 
authorities, but he reverently entered the Temple, and assisted 
in the sacrifices conducted by Jaddus. 

At the death of Alexander and the partition of his kingdom by 
his generals, Jerusalem, with Judea, fell to the Syrian monarchs. 
But, in the frequent wars which followed between the kings of 
Syria and those of Egypt, called by Daniel the Kings of the 
North and South, it belonged sometimes to one, and sometimes to 
the other; an unsettled and unhappy state, resulting in general 
disorder and corruption. The liigli-priesthood was openly sold 
to the highest bidder, and numbers of Jews deserted their religion 
for the idolatries of the Greeks. 

At length, in the year 170 B. C., Antiochus Epiphanes, king of 
Syria, enraged at hearing that the Jews had rejoiced at a false re¬ 
port of his death, plundered Jerusalem, and killed eighty thousand 
men. Not more than two years afterwards, this cruel tyrant, who 
had seized every opportunity to exercise his barbarity on the Jews, 
sent Apollonius with an army to Jerusalem, who pulled down 
the walls, grievously oppressed the people, and built a citadel on 
a rock adjoining the Temple, which commanded that building, and 
had the eflcct of completely overawing the seditious inhabitants. 

























88 JERUSALEM. 

Having thus reduced this unfortunate city into entire submission, 
and rendered resistance useless, the next step of Antiochus was 
to abolish the Jewish religion altogether, by publishing an edict 
which commanded all the people of his dominions to conform to 
the religion of the Greeks; in consequence of which the service 
of the Temple ceased, and a statue of Jupiter Olympus was set up 
on its altar. But this extremity of ignominy and oppression led, 
as might have been expected, to rebellion ; and those Jews who 
still held their insulted religion in reverence, fled to the mountains 
with Mattathias and Judas Maccaileus; the latter of whom, 
after the death of Mattathias, with his followers and successors, 
being known by the name of Maccabees, waged successful war 
with the Syrians; defeated Apollonius, NicanOr, and Lysias, 
generals of Antiochus ; obtained possession of Jerusalem, purified 
the Temple, and restored the service after three years’ defilement 
by the Gentile idolatries. 

From this time, under several succeeding MaccabaDan rulers, 
who were at once liigh-priests and sovereigns of the Jews, but 
without the title of king, Jerusalem was able to preserve itself 
from Syrian violence. It was, however, twice besieged; first by 
Antiochus Eupator, in the year 1G3 B. C., and afterwards by 
Antiochus Sidetes, in the year 134 B. C. But the Jews had 
caused themselves to be sufficiently respected to obtain conditions 
of peace on both occasions, and to save their city; till, at length, 
Hyrcanus, in the year 130 B. C., shook off the Syrian yoke, and 
reigned after this event twent 3 ^-one years in independence and 
prosperity. 

His successor, Judas, made an important change in the Jewish 
government, by taking the title of king ; which dignity was 
enjoyed by his successors forty-seven years, when a dispute having 
arisen between Hyrcanus II. and his brother Aristobulus, and 
the latter having overcome the former and made himself king, 
was in his turn conquered by the Romans, under Pompey, by 
whom the city and temple were taken, Aristobulus made prisoner, 
and Hyrcanus created liigh-priest and prince of the Jews, but 



















JERUSALEM. 89 

without the title of king. By this event, Judea was reduced to 
the condition of a Roman province, in the year 63 B. C. Nor 
did Jerusalem long after enjoy the dignity of a metropolis, that 
honor being transferred to Cassarea. Julius (Lesar, having 
defeated Pompey, continued Hyrcanus in the high-priesthood, 
but bestowed the government of Judea upon Antipater, an 
Idumean by birth, but a Jewish proselyte, and father of Herod 
the Great. 

The capture and destruction of Jerusalem by Titus, the Roman 
general, A. D. 70, is one of the most terrible events in the history 
of this wonderful city. For several years, the Jews had been in 
a state of revolt, and some of the most bloody conflicts in the 
history of human warfare had taken place between them and 
their rulers. V espasian had commanded the Roman army ; but 
having been declared emperor, he went to Rome, and sent his 
son Titus to complete the subjugation of Jerusalem, that place 
having been invested for some time. 

Notwithstanding their peril from foreign foes, the Jews within 
the city were divided into factions, who seemed to hate each other 
even more cordially than their besiegers. Titus now caused his 
troops to level all the ground, in their approach to the walls, and 
to make every preparation for a vigorous onset. Some proposals 
of peace were sent to the besieged, but they were rejected with 
indignation, and the Romans were consequently ordered to play 
their war engines against the city with all their energy. The 
Jews were compelled to retire from those dreadful stones which 
the enemy threw incessantly, and the battering-rams were at full 
liberty to ply against the walls. A breach, at length, was made, 
and the besieged were compelled to retire behind the enclosure. 
This lodgement was effected about a fortnight after the beginning 
of the siege. 

The second wall was then immediately attempted, and the 
engines and battering-rams were applied so furiously that one of 
the towers began to shake. The Jews who occupied it, aware 
of their impending ruin, set it on fire, and precipitated themselves 











JERUSALEM. 


‘JO 

into the flames. The fall of this structure afforded an entrance 
to the second enclosure; but, as Titus was desirous of preserving 
the city from demolition, the breach and the passages were left 
so narrow that a great number of his men perished for want 
of room when they were attacked by Simon, the Jewish leader. 
Titus, however, quickly rectified this mistake, and carried the 
place four days after the first repulse, entering that part of the 
lower city which was within the wall. 

A famine now raged in this afflicted place, and a pestilence 
followed in its track. As those calamities increased, so did the 
cruelty of the factions, who forced the houses in quest of provisions, 
punishing those with death upon whom they found any, because 
they had not apprised these robbers of it: they put others to the ‘ 
most excruciating tortures, under the pretence that they had con¬ 
cealed food. Titus again attempted to prevail on the Jews to 
surrender, by sending Josephus to represent the fatal consequences 
of their obstinacy, but without effect. He then caused the city 
to be surrounded by a high wall, to prevent their reception of 
any kind of succor, or their escape by flight. 

Nothing was now to be seen in the streets of Jerusalem but 
putrescent bodies, emaciated invalids, and objects of the deep¬ 
est distress ; even those who escaped in safety to the Roman 
camp were frequently murdered by the soldiers, who inferred, 
from certain circumstances, that they had swallowed quantities 
of gold. In searching for this, two thousand of them were ripped 
up in a single night. While the military operations against the 
city were making progress, the famine within still grew more and 
more terrible. 

In the language of the historian, “ Men would fight even their 
dearest friends for the most miserable morsel. The very dead were 
searched, as though they might contain some scrap of food. The 
robbers themselves began to suffer severely; they went prowling 
about like mad dogs, or reeling, like drunken men, from weakness, 
and entered and searched the same house twice or thrice in the 
same hour. The most loathsome and disgusting food was sold at 


































JERUSALEM. 


91 


an enormous rate. They gnawed their belts, shoes, and even the 
leathern coats of their shields; chopped hay and shoots of trees 
sold at high prices. Yet what are all these horrors to that which 
followed ? There was a woman of Perea, Mary, the daughter of 
Eleazar. She possessed considerable wealth when she took 
refuge in the city. Day after day she had been plundered by the 
robbers, whom she had provoked by her bitter imprecations. No 
one, however, would mercifully put an end to her misery, and, 
her mind maddened with wrong, her body preyed upon by famine, 
she wildly resolved on an expedient which might gratify at once 
her vengeance and her hunger. She had an infant that was 
vainly endeavoring to obtain some moisture from her dry bosom; 
she seized it, cooked it, ate one half, and set the other aside! 

“ The smoke and the smell of food, quickly reached the robbers. 
They forced her door, and, with horrible threats, commanded her 
to give up what she had been feasting on. She replied, with fierce 
indifference, that she had carefully reserved for her good friends 
a part of her meal. She uncovered the remains of her child! 
The savage men stood speechless ; at which she cried out with a 
shrill voice, ‘ Eat, for I have eaten ; be ye not more delicate than 
a woman, more tender hearted than a mother.’ They retired, pale 
and trembling with horror. The story spread rapidly through 
the city, and reached the Roman camp, where it was first listened 
to with incredulity, afterwards with the deepest commiseration.” 
It was upon hearing of this dreadful deed, that the Roman general 
swore to extirpate both city and people, at the same time taking 
Heaven to witness that tins was not his work. 

Towards the end of summer, the Romans had made themselves 
masters of Fort Antonia, and set fire to the gates, after a destruc¬ 
tive encounter ; yet, so blind were the Jews to their real danger, 
that, though nothing was left but the Temple, which must soon 
fall, they could not persuade themselves that God would permit 
his holy habitation to be taken by the heathen. 

On the 17th of July, the daily sacrifice ceased for the first time 
since its restoration by Judas Maccabeus, there being no proper 






































92 


JERUSALEM. 


person left in the Temple to make the offering: The gallery that 
afforded a communication between the T emple and I ort Antonia 
was now burned down, and the Jews, having tilled the western 
portico with combustibles, induced the Romans, by a feigned 
flight, to scale the battlements, and set lire to the building; so 
that the troops were either consumed in the flames, or dashed to 
pieces by leaping from the roof. Contrary to the intentions and 
orders of Titus, who wished to preserve the Temple, one of Ids 
soldiers set that noble edifice on fire. Efforts were made to 
extinguish it, but in vain. With a view to save what he could of 
its contents, the commander entered the Sanctuary, and the Most 
Holy Place, where he found the golden candlestick, the table of 
show-bread, the golden altar of perfumes, and the book of the 
law, wrapped up in a rich tissue of gold. 

A dreadful slaughter now ensued, in which many thousands 
perished; some by the sword, some by the flame, and others by 
falling from the battlements. The conquerors, exasperated by the 
useless obstinacy of the people, carried their fury to such a height 
as to massacre all whom they met, without distinction of age, sex. 
or quality, and even to inflict the dreadful torture of crucifixion on 
many wretches who fell into their hands. All the treasure-houses 
of the Temple were burned, though they were full of the richest 
furniture, vestments, plate, and other valuables. In short, they 
persisted in their barbarous work, till the whole of the holy 
building was utterly demolished, except two of the gates of that 
part of the court which was appropriated to the women. Great 
preparations were made, in the mean time, for attacking the 
upper city, and the royal palace; and, on the 8th of September, 
the engines played so furiously on the iniquitous zealots, that they 
were overwhelmed with confusion, and ran, like lunatics, towards 
Shiloah, intending to attack the wall of circumvallation, and by 
that means effect their escape. They were, however, repulsed 
by the enemy, and compelled to hide themselves in the public 
sinks and sewers, while all the other inhabitants were put to the 
sword, except some of the most vigorous, who were reserved for 










































JERUSALEM. 93 

the victor’s triumph. Among the latter were John and Simon, 
the two most desperate rebels. 

When the slaughter had ceased for want of subjects, and the 
troops were satisfied with plunder, Titus gave orders for the total 
demolition of the remaining parts of the city, with its fortifications, 
palaces, towers, and sumptuous edifices, excepting a part of the 
western wall, and the three towers of Hippicus, Phasael, and 
Mariamne, which might prove to future times the astonishing- 
strength of the city, and the valor of its conqueror. 

During the whole siege, the number killed was one million one 
hundred thousand; that of the prisoners taken, ninety-seven 
thousand. In truth, the population, not of Jerusalem alone, but 
of the adjacent districts—many who had taken refuge in the city, 
and more who had assembled for the feast of unleavened bread— 
had been shut up by the sudden formation of the siege. If the 
numbers in Josephus may be relied on, there must be added to 
this fearful list, in the contest with Rome, nearly one hundred and 
thirty thousand slain before the war under Vespasian, one hundred 
and eighteen thousand during the war in Galilee and Judea, and, 
after the fall of Jerusalem, nearly nine thousand in other parts of 
the country. The prisoners, who, in the whole of these wars, 
amounted to over one hundred thousand, were doomed to be 
exposed in public, to fight like gladiators, or be devoured by wild 
beasts ; twelve thousand perished from want, either through the 
neglect of their keepers, or their own sullen despair. These items 
swell the number of victims of the war to more than a million and 
a half of souls. 

After this dreadful blow, Jerusalem lay in a ruinous condition 
about forty-seven years, when the emperor zElius Adrian began to 
build it anew, and erected there a heathen temple, which he dedi¬ 
cated to Jupiter Capitolinus. In this state Jerusalem continued, 
under the name of .Elia, and inhabited more by Christians and 
Pagans than by Jews, till the time of the emperor Constantine, 
styled the Great; who, about the year 323 A. D., having made 
Christianity the religion of the empire, began to improve it, 

















94 


JERUSALEM. 


adorned it with many new edifices and churches, and restored its 
ancient name. About thirty-five years afterwards, J ulian, named 
the Apostate, not from any love he bore the Jews, but out of hatred 
to the Christians, whose faith lie had abjured, and with the avowed 
design of defeating the prophecies, which had declared that the 
Temple should not be rebuilt, Avrote to the Jews inviting them to 
their city, and promising to restore their Temple and nation. He 
accordingly employed great numbers of Avorkmcn to clear the 
foundations; but balls of fire bursting from the earth, soon put a 
stop to their proceedings. This, which Avas deemed a miraculous 
interposition of Providence, is attested by many credible witnesses 
and historians, and in particular by Ammianus Marcellinus, a 
heathen, and friend of Julian ; Zemuch David, a JeAv ; Naz- 
ianzen, Chrysostom, Ambrose, Ruffinus, Theodoret, Sozomen, 
and Socrates, who wrote his account Avithin five years after 
the transaction, and Avhile many eye-witnesses of it were still 
living. So stubborn indeed, is the proof of this alleged miracle, 
that even Gibbon, avIio strives to invalidate it, is obliged to 
acknowledge the fact. 

Jerusalem continued nearly in the same condition till the 
beginning of the seventh century, when it Avas taken and plun¬ 
dered by the celebrated Chosroes, king of Persia, by whom 
many thousands of the Christian inhabitants Avcre killed, or sold 
as slaves. The Persians, however, did not hold it long, as they 
Avere soon after entirely defeated by the emperor Heracltus, avIio 
rescued Jerusalem, and restored it, not to the. unhappy Jcavs, avIio 
were forbidden to come within three miles of it, but to the Chris¬ 
tians. A worse calamity was, hoAvever, speedily to befall this ill- 
fated city. The Mahommedan imposture arose about this time ; 
and the fanatics who had adopted its creed, carried their arms 
and their religion Avitli unprecedented rapidity over the greater 
part of the East. The caliph Omar, the third from Mohammed, 
invested the city, which, after once more suffering the horrors of 
a protracted siege, surrendered on terms of capitulation in the 
year 637 ; and has ever since, with the exception of the short 



































JERUSALEM. 95 

period it was occupied by the crusaders, been trodden under foot 
by the followers of the false prophet. 

Never before nor since, have such scenes been witnessed upon 
the earth, as those of the crusades, which had for their object 
the delivery of Jerusalem from the infidels. A sudden impulse 
arose in Europe, which precipitated upon Asia several armies, 
consisting of hundreds of thousands of men, led on by the 
ablest kings and princes of Christendom, and all were wasted 
away, either on the march or in conflict with the Mahommedans in 
Palestine. Once only, and for a brief space, did the Christians 
succeed in their object. In 1099, the crusaders, having the year 
before taken Nice and Antioch, laid siege to Jerusalem, and car¬ 
ried it by assault, with a prodigious slaughter of the garrison and 
inhabitants, which was continued for three days, without respect 
either to age or sex, thus showing that the mercy of the followers 
of the cross, was no better than that of the followers of the crescent. 
Eight days after, the Latin chiefs elected the renowned Godfrey 
of Pouillox, to preside over their conquests in Palestine. In a 
fortnight, he was called out to defend his capital against the 
powerful army of the sultan of Egypt, and overthrew him at the 
battle of Ascalon. The four cities of Hems, Hamah, Damas¬ 
cus and Aleppo were soon the only relics of the Mahommedan 
conquests in Syria. The feudal institutions of Europe were in¬ 
troduced into this kingdom in all their purity, and a code of laws 
established. 

The defeat and dispersion of the armies of the second crusade 
tended greatly to weaken the Christian cause in the Holy Land, and 
shake the foundations of the new kingdom of Jerusalem. Treason 
and dissension also contributed to its overthrow. In the midst 
of these, Sultan Saladin, a prince uniting refined humanity to 
valor, policy, and military skill, assailed the kingdom. His com¬ 
plaints of the pillage of the caravans of pilgrims being unheeded, 
he invaded Palestine with eighty thousand horse and foot. In a 
decisive battle at the siege of Tiberias, the Christians were com¬ 
pletely overthrown, with the loss of thirty thousand men. Fol- 




















96 JERUSALEM. 

lowing up his victory, Jerusalem was taken by the sultan after a 
siege of fourteen days; and the Latin kingdom, though, for a 
time, sustaining itself on the coast, and even regaining Jerusalem, 
was at last put an end to in the capture of Acre by the Mame¬ 
lukes, about 1290. Palestine continued under Egypt, with two 
short exceptions, till it fell under the Turks, who have held it for 
the last three hundred years. 

Jerusalem at present is but the shadow of what it was in 
ancient times. It is now a town not far from three miles in cir¬ 
cumference, situated on a rocky elevation, surrounded on all sides, 
except the north, with a steep ascent and deep valleys, and then 
again environed with other hills at some distance from these. 
The soil is, for the most part, stony, yet affords corn, wine, and 
oil, where cultivated. The houses are built with flint stones, one 
story high. The tops of the dwellings are flat and plastered, having 
battlements a yard high. In the daytime, the people screen them¬ 
selves from the sun under the roof; in the night, they walk, eat, 
and sleep on it. The number of inhabitants is about 12,000, con¬ 
sisting of Mahommedans, four thousand five hundred ; Jews, three 
thousand ; Christians, three thousand five hundred. To these 
are to be added, for the convents and garrison, about five hundred 
more, making in all, eleven thousand five hundred. Surely the 
glory of Jerusalem is departed, sunk as she is into the neglected 
capital of a petty Turkish province! 

Some streets seem to consist of ruins rather than dwelling- 
houses. Within the walls, large places lie desolate, covered with 
stones and earth. In digging for the foundations of the English 
church, on Zion, forty feet of rubbish and ruins were penetrated. 
The gardens are badly managed, being surrounded with low walls 
of mud, which are constantly washing down, and requiring new 
repairs. The citizens are tailors, cooks, smiths, or shoemakers— 
a destitute, immoral race, the refuse of different nations. 

Jerusalem is surrounded with high walls of hewn stone, flanked 
with towers.. Several of the mosques are splendid structures of 
great size, and adorned with numerous columns and domes. The 










THE SHRINE OF THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY SEPULCHRE. 


most magnificent edifice in Jerusalem is called the Mosque of 
Omar, which consists, in fact, of a collection of mosques and chapels, 
environed with a vast enclosure. It is upon the site of the ancient 
Temple. One of the chapels, called the Rock, is an octagon of 
one hundred and sixty feet in diameter, rising from a platform 
four hundred and sixty feet long by three hundred and thirty-nine 
broad, with a marble pavement, raised sixteen feet; its interior is 
decorated with great splendor, and is always illuminated with 
thousands of lamps. 

Several Christian edifices adorn the holy city. Among these, 
are the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, said to be built upon the 
spot where the body of Jesus was entombed ; the Catholic con¬ 
vent of St. Savior, in the church of which are gold and silver 
vessels and ornaments valued at nearly two-million dollars ; and 
the Armenian convent, with more than eight hundred cells for 





















































98 


JERUSALEM. 


the accommodation of pilgrims, many thousands of whom visit 
this spot every year. 

We close this sketch with a brief extract from a traveler, who 
visited Jerusalem in March, 1857, and who therefore furnishes 
the most recent intelligence from this desolate but renowned 
place. 

“ The city seems to be built on a slope, and not crowning the 
mountains, so often spoken of in the Psalms and elsewhere. The 
only really fine and impressive view is from the Mount of Olives. 
From Ramleh we came up with some hundreds of pilgrims, who 
are flocking hither from all quarters in numbers heretofore unpar¬ 
alleled. It is estimated that there will be more than 15,000, and 
that there are now about 8,000 in the city. A more rag-tag, des¬ 
perate, ill-looking set of vagabonds I never saw ; most of those 
now here are Armenians and Greeks from the Ionian Islands ; 
and, though they have great need of the wash in the Jordan to 
remove the outward impurities, I fear it will have little effect 
upon the inward man, and should be very sorry, unarmed, to meet 
any of them among their own hills. 

“Jerusalem, consequently, is crowded to overflowing ; the 
streets are thronged, and numbers of noisy miscreants are to be 
met with at all hours, in places to which one would desire to go 
alone ; thus taking away the feeling with which one naturally 
expects to be filled amidst scenes made sacred by the life and 
death of the Redeemer. Every spot, too, with which history or 
tradition can, by any possibility, or impossibility, connect an inci¬ 
dent in the life, teachings or death of Christ or the Virgin Mary, 
is covered by a chapel or church, and one cannot visit it without 
witnessing the mummeries of Greek or Roman Catholicism, with 
their tawdry trappings and bare-faced impositions. The Mount 
of Calvary and the reported place of the Sepulchre are covered 
by a large and very fine building, called the Church of the Holy 
Sepulchre. The spot where the body was washed is marked by a 
marble slab ; the holes in the rock where the cross of Christ and 
those of the thieves stood, are marked by a broad rin«r of p;old 

J O O 




































JERUSALEM. 99 

or brass, as is also the rent in the mountains ; at the place where 
he was scourged, is an altar; and in the sepulchre where he was laid 
is a marble sarcophagus, with lights constantly burning around it 
and a priest in attendance. At all these places, the pilgrims 
repeat aves, and bending on their knees, kiss them ; some few 
with an outward appearance of feeling, but most with careless 
levity and indifference, often laughing and joking. The same is 
the case with the tomb of the Virgin Mary, where, during the time 
that it is open, mass is constantly said. 

“ The only place about Jerusalem at present, possessing any 
degree of seclusion, is Gethsemane, and even that is often crowded. 

For the city itself, it has no beauty ; the streets are all narrow and 
filthy to a degree beyond belief, often making the air intolerable.” 

• 

'* ^ i « . « W W > * 

/ 




) >) 

) 
















THE ANT-EATER. 


S OUTH AMERICA can boast of some of the most curious 
animals in the whole range of zoology. Among them are 
the tapirs, the armadillos, and the ant-eaters. The latter, 
of which there are several species, may be considered as the 
very oddest creature in existence, seeming to combine in gro¬ 
tesque proportions, something of the bear, the sloth, the racoon, 
and the skunk. We shall give a brief account of the Great 
Ant-eater, which stands as the head and representative of the 
family, and whose portrait is herewith presented. 

This is, in fact, a large animal. The head, from the point of 
the snout to the ears, is about thirteen inches long ; thence to the 
insertion of the tail, nearly three feet and a half, and the tail 
nearly two feet and a half in the solid, and a foot more to the 
[ 100 ] 






























THE ANT-EATER. 


101 


points of the hair. The whole length is thus about eight feet. 
The height is about three feet three at the shoulder, but half a 
foot less at the croup. The hair, excepting on the head, where it 
is short and close, is shaggy and dry, like that of the sloths. 

The mouth, which is a long, toothless tube, is small, and the 
tongue slender, but remarkable for its length. It is in the form of 
a worm. When in repose, it folds back within the mouth ; but it 
is protrusile to the length of at least eighteen inches beyond the 
snout; and the celerity Avith which it can be protruded and 
retracted, forms a remarkable contrast with the sluggish motions of 
the animal. This celerity of motion in the tongue is, however, just 
as necessary for a large animal which feeds on such small insects 
as ants, as swifter progressive motion would be unnecessary. The 
tongue is covered by a viscid secretion, by which the ants are 
captured ; as it is laid over them, they are rubbed off against the 
palate when the tongue is doubled back into the mouth. 

In order to understand how the parts of this singular organi¬ 
zation work together, we must suppose that the animal has arrived 
at the side of an ant-hill, or rather burrow of social insects, and 
that he is hungry, and inclined to feed. There is every reason to 
believe that his sense of smell is acute, as is generally the case 
with long-snouted animals, and that in obtaining food, he is fully 
as much guided by that, as by the sight of his small eyes. Well, 
he arrives at the ant-hill, his broad hind feet forming a firm base, 
and his long tail balancing him on those feet as on a pivot. 
The fore foot is then extended to its utmost stretch, but in its 
general position, and with the claws curving a little backward. 

In this species, the claws on the fore feet are four in number ; 
the first and fourth smaller, but the second, two inches, and the 
third, two inches and a half in length, strong in proportion, and 
grooved on their posterior surfaces. The stroke of the foot 
plunges these into the ant-hill up to the roots, and the animal 
pulls the foot home, tearing a rugged furrow in the insect domain. 
The ants, as is their habit, instantly come to the breach in num¬ 
bers ; and while they are in agitation there, the tongue is pro- 
























102 


THE ANT-EATER. 


traded over them, and withdrawn at the rate of about twice in a 
second, many dozens being captured at each time. When the 
first breach is cleared, others are made in the same way. 

But though the animal subsists in this manner, it is said never 
to get fat, notwithstanding its indolence at those times when it is 
not feeding. It is capable, however, of enduring great privation in 
the way of food, which might be inferred from its sluggish habits. 
The position of repose is that of partially rolling itself into a ball, 
with the snout doubled on the breast, the legs brought together, the 
long and bushy tail covering the outer part, and the whole animal 
having something the appearance of a bunch of withered grass. 
Probably much of its defence from enemies depends on this 
position, in which it spends the greater portion of its time. 

Great ant-eaters are pretty generally distributed over all the 
warmer parts of South America, but they are not numerous in any 
one locality. The low and swampy grounds, by the sides of 
streams and pools, or in the forests, are his favorite haunts, 
though ho never either climbs in the woods, or swims in the 
water. He is wdiolly a ground animal, but a surface one, and not 
a burrower. 

These are slow breeding animals. The female has only one at 
a birth : she carries it on her back, and tends and nurses it for 
more than a year. They are remarkably quiet and harmless, 
living and feeding among the ant-hills, and, not, so far as is 
known, offering or doing harm to any other creature. So retired 
are they, indeed, that they are considered as rare, even in their 
own native forests. The Indians and negroes eat the flesh of this 
species, which is not unpalatable ; but, as is the case with several 
others of the ground animals, it has a rank, musky flavor, which 
is rather offensive to Europeans. 

The species, now noticed, is the only one of the genus which is 
literally an “ ant-eater,” and a dweller exclusively upon the 
ground ; the remaining species, though they resemble it in having 
no teeth, have many of their characters so different, that each of 
them might, perhaps, be made a separate genus. 



































f 




THE BEES AT HOME. 

t F we were called upon to select the 
insect which combines in the highest 
^ degree, the wonderful and the useful, 
we should no doubt choose the Honey-bee. 

A careful examination of the habits of this 
little creature, in its social capacity, has ex¬ 
hibited instincts which approach nearer to 
the results of reason and reflection, than 
any thing within our knowledge. To the 
bee we are also indebted for two valuable 
staples of commerce — honey and wax. 

Since the introduction of sugar, honey has 
become less an article of general use, and 
more one of luxury ; but wax is still ex¬ 
tensively consumed throughout the civilized 
world, being in fact a necessity in the arts and in domestic life. 

Honey is collected from flowers, is swallowed by the bees, and 
afterwards regurgitated. The bee, laden with honey, returns 
to the hive, enters a cell, pierces a hole in the crust on the 
surface of the honey already therein, disgorges the honey in 
large drops from its mouth, new models the crust, and closes 
up the hole: this mode of proceeding is regularly adopted by 
every bee that contributes to the general store. Wax is secreted, 

[ 103 ] 



















104 


THE BEES AT HOME. 


as occasion may require, from small sacs situated between the 
segments of the body of the bee, on the under side j it is used for 
constructing the combs in which the family provision of honey 
and the young brood are deposited. The wax of commerce is 
produced by melting down these combs. 

A bee-hive contains three kinds of individuals —a queen, 
drones, and workers: the queen is a female, and not only the 
ruler, but, in great part, the mother of the community ; the drones 
are males, and the workers are abortive females. The sole office 
of the queen appears to be the laying of eggs, and this occupies 
her almost incessantly, as a single one only is deposited in each 
cell, thus causing her to be in continual motion ; she is slow and 
majestic in her movements, and differs from the workers in being 
larger, having a longer body, shorter wings, and a curved sting. 
The queen is accompanied by a guard of twelve workers, an office 
which is taken in turns, but never intermitted: in whatever 
direction she wishes to travel, these guards clear the way before 
her, always with the utmost courtesy turning their faces towards 
her, and when she rests from her labors, approaching her with 
humility, licking her face, mouth, and eyes, and fondling her 
with their antennm. 

The drones are all males; they are smaller than the queen, but 
larger than the workers; they live on the honey of flowers, but 
bring none home, and are wholly useless, except as being the 
fathers of the future progeny: when this office is accomplished, 
they are destroyed by the workers. A buzzing commences in the 
hive; the drones and the workers sally forth together, grapple 
each other in the air, and hug and scuffle for a minute, during 
which operation the stings of the workers are plunged into the 
sides of the drones, who, overpowered by the poison, almost 
instantly die. 

The workers are the smallest bees in the hive, and by far the 
most numerous; they have a longer lip for sucking honey than 
either of the others ; their thighs are furnished with a brush for 
the reception of the pollen of flowers, and their sting is straight. 
































THE BEES AT HOME. 


105 


The workers do the entire labor of the community: they build 
the cells, guard the hive and the queen, collect and store the 
honey, elaborate the wax, feed the young, kill the drones, etc. 
The average number of these three kinds of bees in a hive, is one 
queen, 2,000 drones, and 20,000 workers. The eggs are lorn;-, 
slightly curved, and of a bluish color ; when laid, they are covered 
with a glutinous matter, which instantly dries, attaching them to 
the bottom of the cell. 

For eleven months the queen lays only workers’ eggs; after¬ 
wards, those which produce drones. As soon as this change has 
commenced, the workers begin to construct royal cells, in which, 
without discontinuing to lay the drones’ eggs, the queen deposits 
here and there, about once in three days, an egg which is destined 
to produce a queen. The workers’ eggs hatch in a few days, and 
produce little white maggots, which immediately open their 
mouths to be fed; these the workers attend to with untiring 
assiduity. In six days, each maggot fills up its cell; it is then 
roofed in by the workers, spins a silken cocoon, and becomes a 
chrysalis; on the twenty-first day, it becomes a perfect bee. 
The drones emerge on the twenty-fifth day, and the queens on the 
sixteenth. 

It has been already stated, that the queen, for nearly a year, 
lays no eggs that are destined to produce queens; it therefore 
follows, that if any evil befall her, the hive is left without a queen. 
It sometimes happens that she dies, or is taken away by the owner 
of the hive, to observe the result. For twelve hours little notice 
is taken of the loss ; it appears not to be known, and the workers 
labor as usual: after that period, a hubbub commences; work is 
abandoned ; the whole hive is in an uproar ; every bee traverses 
the hive at random, and with the most evident want of purpose. 
This state of anarchy sometimes continues for two days; then the 
bees gather in clusters of a dozen or so, as though engaged in 
consultation, the result of which seems to be a final resolution to 
supply the loss. A few of the workers repair to the cells in 
which are deposited the eggs of workers; three of these cells 











































106 THE BEES AT HOME. 

are quickly broken into one, the edges polished and the sides 
smoothed and rounded, a single egg being allowed to remain at 
the bottom. 

When this egg hatches, the maggot is fed with a peculiarly 
nutritive food called royal bee-bread, which is never given to any 
maggots but such as arc to produce queens; work is now resumed 
over the whole hive, and goes on as briskly as before. On the 
sixteenth day the egg produces a queen, whose appearance is 
hailed with every demonstration of delight, and who at once 
assumes sovereignty over the hive. When, under ordinary cir¬ 
cumstances, a young queen emerges from the chrysalis, the old 
one frequently quits the hive, heading the first swarm for the 
season, and flying to some neighboring resting-place, is observed 
by the owner, captured, placed under a new hive, and a new 
colony is immediately commenced. 

Before a swarm leaves the hive, sure indications are given of the 
intended movement: the workers leave their various occupations 
and collect in groups, especially near the door of the hive, as 
though in consultation on the important event about to take 
place. 

As the summer advances, many queens are hatched; but the 
workers do not allow them instant liberty, as severe battles 
would take place between them and the reigning queen, in which 
one would be killed: the workers, therefore, make a small hole 
in the ceiling of each royal cell, through which the captive queen 
thrusts her tongue and receives food from the workers. In this 
state of confinement the young queen utters a low querulous note, 
which has been compared to singing. When the reigning or a 
newly-created queen finds one of these captives, she uses every 
effort to tear open the cell, and destroy her rival: to prevent this 
the workers often interpose, pulling her away by the legs and 
wings; to this she submits for a short time, when, uttering a 
peculiar cry, called her voice of sovereignty, she commands 
instant attention and obedience, and is at once freed from her 
assailants. The cocoon spun by the maggots of the workers and 















THE BEES AT HOME. 


107 


drones completely envelopes the chrysalis; but that spun by the 
maggot of the queen appears imperfect, covering only the upper 
end of the chrysalis. It has been supposed that they are thus 
designedly exposed to the attacks of other queens, and their 
destruction, before emerging, facilitated. When the chrysalis of 
the queen is about to change to a perfect insect, the bees make the 
cover of the cell thinner, by gnawing away part of the wax; and 
with so much nicety do they perform this operation, that the 
cover at last becomes pellucid, owing to its extreme thinness. 

The combs of a bee-hive comprise a congeries of hexagonal 
cells, built by the bees as a receptacle for honey, and for the 
nurseries of their young. Each comb in a hive is composed of 
two ranges of cells, backed against each other : the base or 
partition between this double row of cells is so disposed as to 
form a pyramidal cavity at the bottom of each. There is a 
continued series of these double combs in every well-filled hive; 
the spaces between them being just sufficient to allow two bees, 
one on the surface of each comb, to pass without touching. Each 
cell is hexagonal, the six sides being perfectly equal. This figure 
ensures the greatest possible economy of material and space; the 
outer edges of the cells are slightly thickened, in order to gain 
strength; the same part is also covered with a beautiful varnish, 
which is supposed to give additional strength. The construction 
of several combs is generally going on at the same time: no 
sooner is the foundation of one laid, with a few rows of cells 
attached to it, than a second and a third are founded on each 
side, parallel to the first, and so on till the hive is filled; the 
combs which were commenced first being always in the most 
advanced state, and therefore the first completed. 

The design of every comb is sketched out, and the first rudi¬ 
ments laid, by a single bee; this foundress-bee forms a block out 
of a rough mass of wax, drawn partly from its own resources, but 
principally from those of other bees, which furnish wax from the 
small sacs before described, taking out the plates of wax with 
their hind feet, and carrying it-with their fore feet to their mouths, 

































108 


THE BEES AT HOME. 


where it is moistened, masticated, and rendered soft and ductile. 
The foundress-bee determines the relative position of the combs 
and their distance from each other, the foundations which she 
marks serving as guides to the ulterior labors of the wax-working 
bees, and of those which build the cells, giving them the advantage 
of the margins and angles already formed. 

The mass of wax prepared by the assistants, is applied by the 
foundress-bee to the roof or bottom of the hive, and thus a slightly 
double-convex mass is formed: when of sufficient size, a cell is 
sculptured on one side of it by the bees, who relieve one another 
in the labor. At the back and on each side of this first cell, two 
others are sketched out and excavated: by this proceeding, the 
foundations of two cells are laid, the line betwixt them corres¬ 
ponding with the center of the opposite cells. As the comb 
extends, the first excavations are rendered deeper and broader; 
and when a pyramidal base is finished, the bees build up walls 
from its edges, so as to complete what may be called the prismatic 
part of the cell. The cells intended for the drones are considerably 
larger and more substantial than those for the workers; and being 
formed subsequently, they usually appear nearer the bottom of 
the combs. Last of all are built the royal cells for the queens: 
of these there are usually three or four, sometimes ten or twelve, 
in a hive, attached commonly to the central part, but not unfre- 
quently to the edge of the comb. The form of the royal cells is 
an oblong spheroid, tapering gradually downwards, and having 
the exterior full of holes ; the mouth of the cell, which is always 
at the bottom, remains open until the maggot is ready for trans¬ 
formation, and it is then closed like the rest. 

When a queen has emerged, the cell in which she was reared is 
destroyed, and its place supplied by a range of common cells ; the 
site of this range may always be traced by that part of the comb 
being thicker than the rest, and forming a kind of knob. The 
common breeding cells of drones and workers are occasionally 
made the depositories of honey ; but the cells are never sufficiently 
cleansed to preserve the honey undeteriorated. The finest honey 




































THE BEES AT HOME. 


109 


is stored in new cells constructed for the purpose of receiving it, 
their form precisely resembling that of the common breeding cells. 
These honey-cells vary in size, being larger or smaller according 
to the productiveness of the sources from which the bees are 
collecting, and also according to the season. 

The cells formed in July and August, being intended only for 
honey, are larger and deeper than those formed earlier ; the 
texture of their walls is thinner, and thus they have more dip 
or inclination; this dip diminishes the risk of the honey’s run¬ 
ning out, which, from the heat of the weather at this season, and 
its consequent thinness, it is liable to do. When the cells intended 
for holding the winter’s provision are filled, they are always closed 
with waxen lids, and are never reopened till the whole of the 
honey in the unfilled cells is expended. The waxen lids are thus 
formed: the bees first construct a ring of wax within the verge 
of the cells, to which other rings are successively added, till the 
aperture of the cell is finally closed by a lid composed of concentric 
circles. 































V 

\ 



LEGENDS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 

)HIS extraordinary sheet of water—the largest fresh water 
lake in the world — appears to have made a profound 
impression upon the minds of the early travelers along 
its shores. Its vastness and isolation, with the wild rocks along 
its borders and the wolf-haunted forests that shaded the adjacent 
country, excited emotions, in which sublimity was mingled with 
awe. In the following lines, an attempt is made to embody these 
associations : 

“ Father of Lakes ! ” thy Avaters bend 
Beyond the eagle’s utmost view, 

When, throned in heaven, he sees thee send 
Back to the sky its world of blue. 

[110] 



























LEGENDS OP LAKE SUPERIOR. 


Ill 


Boundless and deep the forests weave 
Their twilight shade thy borders o’er, 

And towering clifls, like giants, heave 
Their rugged forms along thy shore. 

Pale Silence, ’mid thy hollow caves, 

With listening ear in sadness broods, 

Or startled Echo, o’er thy waves, 

Sends the hoarse wolf-notes of thy woods. 

Nor can the light canoes that glide 
Across thy breast, like things of air, 

Chase from thy lone and level tide, 

The spell of stillness deepening there. 

Yet round this waste of wood and wave, 
Unheard, unseen, a spirit lives, 

That, breathing o’er, each rock and cave, 

To all, a wild, strange aspect gives. 

The thunder-riven oak, that flings 
Its grisly arms athwart the sky, 

A sudden, startling image brings 
To the lone traveler’s kindled eye. 

The gnarled and braided boughs, that show 
Their dim forms in the forest shade, 

Like wrestling serpents seem, and throw 
Fantastic horrors through the glade. 

The very echoes round this shore, 

Have caught a strange and gibbering tone, 
For they have told the war-whoop o’er, 

Till the wild chorus is their own. 

Wave of the wilderness, adieu! 

Adieu, ye rocks, ye wilds, ye woods! 

Roll on, thou element of blue, 

And fill these awful solitudes! 




































112 


LEGENDS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 


Thou hast no tale to tell of Man — 

God is thy theme. Ye sounding caves, 
Whisper of Him, whose mighty plan 
Deems as a bubble all your waves! 


This was written some five-and-twenty years ago ; since that time, 
the southern shores of this isolated sea have become the haunts of 
civilized men, who are beginning to make the woods resound with 
the ax and the anvil, which a few years since echoed only with 
the wolf-howl and the war-whoop. But, as the aboriginal inhabit¬ 
ants are fading away, their history and their legends acquire an 
interest which they never before possessed. Thus it is, that we 
begin to read with attention and curiosity the Indian myths and 
fables, collected by Mr. Schoolcraft, and especially those of the 
Chippewas, who dwelt in the vicinity of Lake Superior. 

As might have been anticipated, it is among the inhabitants of 
these cold northern regions, that we find the greatest number and 
the most imaginative of these legends. Here the story of Paup- 
puk-keewis is made to answer the purpose of our tales of Blue 
Beard and Jack the Giant Killer. The vernal equinox in the 
north generally takes place while the ground is covered with 
snow, and winter still wears a polar aspect ; storms of wind, and 
light drifting snow, expressively called poudre by the French, and 
pee-wun by the Indians, fill the atmosphere, and render it impos¬ 
sible to distinguish objects at a short distance. The fine powdery 
flakes of snow are driven into the smallest crevices of buildings 
and fixtures, and seem to be endowed with a subtle power of 
insinuation, which renders Indian joiner-work but a poor defence. 
It is not uncommon for the sleeper, on waking up in the morning, 
to find heaps of snow where he had supposed himself quite secure 
on lying down. 

Such seasons are, almost invariably, times of scarcity and 
hunger with the Indians, for the light snows have buried up the 
traps of the hunters, and the fishermen are deterred from exer¬ 
cising their customary skill in decoying fish through the orifices 


* 
































LEGENDS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 


113 


cut in the ice. They are often reduced to the greatest straits, 
and compelled to exercise their utmost ingenuity to keep their chil¬ 
dren from starving. Abstinence on the part of the elder members 
of the family is then regarded both as a duty and a virtue. 
Every effort is made to satisfy the importunity of the little ones 
for food, and if there be a story-teller in the lodge, he is sure to 
draw upon his cabin lore to amuse their minds and beguile their 
time, as an alleviation of their sufferings. 

In these storms, when each inmate of the lodge has his conaus, 
or wrapper, tightly drawn around him, and all are cowering about 
the cabin fire, should some sudden puff of wind drive a volume of 
light snow into the lodge, it would scarcely happen but that some 
one of the group would cry out, “Ah, Paup-puk-keewis is now 
gathering his harvest! ” — an expression which has the effect to put 
them all into good humor. 

For an account of the Indian hero here alluded to, we must 
refer the reader to Mr. Schoolcraft’s work, which we have 
already mentioned in a former part of this volume. We quote 
however, another story, which seems to show, that although the 
white settlers of America have never been able to induce the 
European fairies to settle in this country, the Chippewas, around 
Lake Superior, had long ago peopled these regions with beings of 
similar endowments. 


Hht Irtiuan: Jfairfts. 

The Pukwudjininees, or fairies of Lake Superior, had one of 
their most noted places of residence at the great sand dunes 
of Naigow Wudjoo , called by the French, Les grandes Scihles. 
Here they were frequently seen on bright moonlight evenings, and 
the fishermen, while sitting in their canoes on the lake, often saw 
them playing their pranks, and skipping over the hills. 

There was a grove of pines in that vicinity, called the Manito 
Wac, or Spirit Wood, into which they might be seen to flee on 
8 





























114 


LEGENDS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 


the approach of evening; and there is a romantic little lake on 
those elevated sand-hills, not far back from the Great Lake, on 
the shores of which their tracks could be plainly seen in the sand. 
These tracks were not bigger than little children’s footprints, 
and the spirits were often seen in the act of vanishing behind the 
little pine trees. They loved to dance in the most lonesome 
places, and were always full of glee and merriment, for their 
little voices could be plainly heard. 

These little men — the pukwudjininees — were not deeply mali¬ 
cious, but rather delighted in mischief and freaks; and would 
sometimes steal away a fisherman’s paddle, or come at night and 
pluck the hunter’s feathers out of his cap, in the lodge, or pilfer 
away some of his game or fish. On one occasion, they went so 
far as to entice away into their sacred grove, and carry off, a 
chief’s daughter—a small but beautiful maiden, who had been 
always inclined to be pensive, and took her seat often in these 
lonesome haunts. From her baby-name, Neenizu , my dear life, 
she was called Leelinau ; but she never attained to much size, 
remaining very slender, but of the most pleasing and sylph-like 
features, with very bright black eyes, and little feet. Her mother 
often cautioned her of the danger of visiting these lonely fairy 
haunts, and predicted playfully that she would one day be carried 
olf by the pukwudjininees, for they were very frolicsome, mis¬ 
chievous, and full of tricks. 

To divert her mind from these recluse moods and tastes, the 

♦ 

mother endeavored to bring about an alliance with a neighboring 
forester, who, though older than herself, had the reputation of 
being an excellent hunter and an active man, and he had even been 
creditably on the war-path, though he had never brought home a 
scalp. To these suggestions, Leelinau had turned rather a deaf 
car. She had imbibed ideas of a spiritual life and existence 
which she fancied could only be enjoyed in the Indian elysium; 
and instructed as she was by the old story-tellers, she could not 
do otherwise than deem the light and sprightly little men who 
made the fairy footprints, as emissaries from the Happy Land. 





















LEGENDS OF LAKE SUPERIOR. 


115 


For this land she sighed and pined. Bloodshed and the taking 
of life, she said, the Great Spirit did not approve, and they could 
never be agreeable to minds of a pure and spiritual mould; and 
she longed to go to a region where there were no weeping, no 
cares, and no deaths. If her parents laughed at these notions as 
childish, her only resource was silence, or she merely revealed her 
emotions in her eyes. She was capable of the deepest concealment, 
and locked up in her heart what she feared to utter, or uttered 
only to deceive. This proved her ruin. 

At length, after a series of conversations with her parents on the 
subject, she announced her willingness to accede to the matrimonial 
proposals, and the day wms fixed for this purpose. She dressed 
herself in the finest manner possible, wreathing flowers in her hair 
and carrying a bunch of wild-flowers, mixed with tassels of the 
pine-tree, in her hand. One only request she made, which was to 
make a farewell visit to the sacred grove of the fairies before she 
was led to the nuptial bower. This was granted on the evening 
of the proposed ceremony, while the bridegroom and his friends 
gathered in her father’s lodge, and waited her return. But they 
waited in vain. Night came, but Leelinau was never more seen, 
except by a fisherman on the lake shore, who was persuaded that 
he had seen her go off with one of the tall fairies, known as the 
Prince of Green Pines, with green plumes nodding o’er his brows ; 
and it is supposed that she is still roving with him over the 
Elysian Fields. 





















Lit by the morning sun it shone — 

Yet on it glided, still and lone. 

Near and more near the feather flew, 

And caught the child’s admiring view ; 

She reached and sought the waif to clasp, 
But lo! it shunned her eager grasp; 

And rising on the eddying air, 

Flew swift, as if the chase to dare. 

With outspread hand and longing view, 
The little maiden did pursue, 

Up hill and down, the romping race — 
Her cheeks all glowing in the chase, 

Her locks unbound, in dancing curls, 

Like morn-light on a river’s whirls. 

Thus on she flew, her brow all bright 

With silvery hope — life’s sunrise light. 
[ 116 ] 

















THE CHASE OF THE GOSSAMER. 117 

At last the soft coquettish spray, 

Paused gently in its airy way — 

As if, perchance, it changed its thought, 

And now was willing to be caught: 

The little maiden made a grasp, 

And seized and crushed it, in her clasp! 

Let maundering age, with grisly frown, 

Compare life’s joys to thistle down, 

That woo like fairies on their wings, 

But caught and crushed, are worthless things: 

A better moral let us trace 

In this light tale — a gossamer chase. 

Look on that little maiden now, 

With health and beauty on her brow! 

What though the fickle toy she caught 
Is crushed and gone — a thing of nought — 

Yet still the chase was glorious fun, 

And joyous all her pulses run, 

While smiling lip and glowing cheek, 

Her laughing triumph gayly speak! 

Ah, simple child, let others spurn — 

I choose of thee a truth to learn : 

Tis Heaven that teaches thee to seize 
Light joys that float on life’s fresh breeze; 

Gentle and pure ; they cheer thy way, 

And give thee grace — for work or play! 


I 















THE ARMADILLO. 

y^~~A HIS animal is well worthy a place in our book of artificial 
ft -Y? and created wonders. Amid all the infinite devices and 
CAfL/ contrivances in nature, which distinguish the multifarious 
kingdom of quadrupeds, nothing appears more curious than those 
which belong to the Armadillo. 

This is a flat, squat, corpulent creature, its body some fourteen 
inches long, with thick short legs, a long tail, little stupid eyes, a 
pointed, keen-scented nose, and erect, sharp, quick-hearing ears. 
But the most remarkable thing about this creature is his armor, 
or coat-of-inail, which consists of three hard bony bucklers, one 
on the head, one on the shoulders, and one along the back, extend¬ 
ing to the rump. These are so measured and fitted to the body 
as completely to protect the flesh, even down the sides, and 
partially covering the belly. This crust greatly resembles the 
plate-armor of the middle ages, in which knights errant rode 

about Christendom, to win glory at tournaments, or in delivering 
[ 118 ] 

























THE ARMADILLO. 


119 


fair dames shut up in enchanted castles, or in personal conflicts, 
incited by the mere love of a free fight. 

Nevertheless, despite this provision of nature, seeming to invite 
him to become a warrior, the armadillo is a shy little beast, 
living in his burrow by day, and only stealing forth at night in 
quest of such innocent food as fruits, roots, maize, worms, and 
insects, that chance to come in its way. It does not, however, 
disdain carrion, aud is a great frequenter of the pampas, where, 
with other wild animals, it has a perpetual feast on the carcasses 
of the cattle killed by the people for their skins. It then gets 
enormously fat, and being roasted in the shell, is esteemed a 
great delicacy. It is an exceedingly amiable thing in the arma¬ 
dillo to furnish a shell to be cooked in, especially on the pampas, 
where plates and gridirons are scarce, and this merit is duly 
acknowledged by the hunters. 

In case of danger, the armadillo runs away, if there is a chance, 
and with remarkable celerity too, considering its short legs and 
dumpy form. If it is captured, it does not bite, but rolls itself 
into a ball, its vital parts completely shielded by its buckler. If 
it is pursued among high rocks and cliffs, it will pack itself in its 
case, and tumble down from precipice to precipice, till it reaches 
the bottom and is safe from the reach of its enemy. The only 
instance in which it seems to become a robber, like the knights of 
old, is in occasionally ripping open an ant-hill, and devouring the 
inhabitants without distinction of age, sex, or condition. 

There are several species of this curious animal, but, with various 
peculiarities, they have a general resemblance to each other. They 
are common in Brazil and the states of Buenos Ayres. In the 
woods and pampas, they are particularly abundant. The inhab¬ 
itants take them in traps, at night. They burrow with amazing 
facility : if one of them is discovered at a distance from his 
retreat, he will sometimes bury himself, by making a new hole 
in the earth, and thus escape. They are great breeders, and 
bring forth five and six young ones at a time. Nevertheless, the 
mother has but four teats, so that some of these little fellows 






















120 


THE ARMADILLO. 


are in much the same condition as office-seekers, applying to a 
government just inaugurated, and which has always more appli¬ 
cants than places. 

Finally, we have to state, that the armadillo can be easily 
tamed, and might thus be multiplied like rabbits, in a warren. 
In some future age of the world, we shall no doubt see this done, 
and we may then have armadillo shows, as well as cattle fairs and 
hen conventions. 



























GROTTO OF POBILIPO. 


NAPLES 


HE City of Naples, for many reasons, is one of the most 

interesting cities in the world. Its picturesque form, 

rising in a crescent, terrace above terrace ; its lovely bay, 

aping and laughing in the sunshine ; its delicious climate, seem- 

lor to be a perpetual sermon in behalf of mirth and music ; its 

[ 121 ] 





































































122 


NAPLES. 


history, reaching back to the early days of Greece, and finally, its 
terrific neighbor, Vesuvius, hoary with centuries, and blasted by 
its own convulsions — altogether form a spectacle of unrivaled 
beauty and sublimity. It is a city of picturesque and striking 
contrasts, and to an American is full of things strange and beau¬ 
tiful, grotesque and graceful, merry and mournful. As I visited 
it in 1855, I propose to give a few glimpses of the city, noting 
only those objects which seem to be specially worthy of notice. 

The houses of Naples are chiefly built of a soft olive-covered 
sand-stone, of which there is an abundance in and around the city : 
these, on account of their light color, give the place a cheerful 
and even gay appearance. The stone is easily wrought, being 
less hard than brick. When exposed to the weather it becomes 
friable, and is soon injured and destroyed. It is therefore only 
useful for interior work, or when it is to be covered with stucco. 
But it is an exceedingly cheap and convenient material, and has 
no doubt contributed largely to the growth of the city. For the 
streets and great public roads, which are admirably paved, flat 
slabs of tufa are used, of which there are numerous quarries — 
the whole country, in the neighborhood, being underlaid with it. 
For public buildings, requiring a durable material, tufa is also 
used. 

•The grottoes and catacombs around Naples are among its won¬ 
ders. That of Posilipo, which is a tunnel 2,250 feet long, 22 feet 
wide, and 25 to 70 feet high, is in fact a public thoroughfare 
through the rocks consisting of stratified tufa, leading at once by 
a short cut, from the sea shore into the country. But for this, it 
would be necessary to travel round the cliffs, a distance of several 
miles. It is ventilated by holes cut through the roof, and is 
lighted by lamps. Its history is traced back to Augustus ; but 
there are several other perforations of even greater extent, which 
appear to be the work of the ancient colonists. 

Of this nature are the Catacombs, which are believed to extend 
to Pozzuoli, a distance of over eight miles, embracing also numerous 
ramifications. It is probable they were partly wrought for build- 

























NAPLES. 123 

ing materials, and partly as passage-ways. It is conjectured that 
they had also, in remote ages, some connection with the mys¬ 
terious rites of pagan superstition. In later times, they have 
served the purposes of sepulture, and even now, the coverings, the 
inscriptions, and the mouldering bones of the tombs, are abundant. 
In some places, large chapels have been wrought out, and numer¬ 
ous legends of saints and martyrs are related at particular 
localities, by the guides. The great Gallery of Naples, the Museo 
Borbonico, has numerous interesting relics derived from these 
mysterious chambers. 

Naples, though older than Rome, displays few present antiqui¬ 
ties. The early structures of the Phoenicians, Greeks, and others, 
who settled and inhabited it, have been mostly buried and hidden 
from the view, by succeeding generations. Could its foundations 
be upturned, as in the case of Pompeii, no doubt the vestiges of 
the various races who have been its masters, might be found in 
abundance. But at present it seems to be almost wholly a modern 
city. Nevertheless, its museum, just mentioned, supplied with 
historical mementoes from the surrounding country, is the richest 
in the world. Pompeii, Herculaneum, Baise, Cumae, and other 
adjacent places, have furnished it with innumerable treasures, to 
which are added some of the finest ancient Greek and Roman 
sculptures in the world, collected from various sources. 

This city has 257 churches, a sufficient indication of the religious 
bias of the people. Many of them arc sumptuous, but there is no 
St. Peter’s. The Cathedral of San Genuaro still exhibits the 
miracle of the “ Liquefaction of the Blood” of its patron saint, who 
was decapitated 1500 years ago, and some of whose blood was 
caught and preserved in two phials. For three centuries, the 
performance of this miracle, which takes place twice a year, and 
is repeated eight successive days, has been regarded by the people 
of Naples as their greatest holiday. The masses believe it to be 
a genuine miracle, and not long since, an article in a leading 
American Catholic organ, spoke of it as a dispensation of Provi¬ 
dence, intended to compensate the people here for the dangers of 












124 NAPLES. 

tlieir situation, in the midst of a region of earthquakes and vol¬ 
canoes ! A staunch Irish Catholic, however, whose acquaintance 
I made at Naples, and who is a resident here, told me under his. 
breath, that it was known by all well-informed people to be a 
trick, but as it was considered of good tendency, in supporting 
the faith of the ignorant, it was sustained alike by the Church 
and the Government. The general explanation of the miracle is, 
that the seeming blood is composed of some chemical substance 
which melts in the warmth of the hand, communicated to the 
phials as they are handed from one person to another. 

I may here remark, that the crowds of people, especially of 
the lower classes, which throng to the churches on the numerous 
festival days, are immense. The idleness, and beggary, so preval¬ 
ent here, are largely attributable to these constant interruptions 
of labor, and encouragements to dissipation. The people are 
particularly delighted with the theatrical show and pantomimic 
pomp of the Church. The procession in celebration of the recent 
discovery of the immaculacy of the Virgin, headed by the bare¬ 
headed King and his nobles, was two miles long, and took seven 
hours to pass a given point. Nowhere has the Madonna’s new 
dignity been hailed with more enthusiasm than here, especially 
by the lazzaroni and the street eaters of maccaroni. The friars 
who preach to these fellows in the open air, tell them that the 
Virgin, being now declared by the Church to be free from orig¬ 
inal sin, has much greater power in heaven than before, and 
therefore it is a prodigious advantage to them, as they can pray 
to her for blessings on themselves, their friends, the Church, and 
the city of Naples, with more confidence than ever! 

There are two royal palaces in Naples, and several in the 
vicinity. They are not too large for King Bomba, who is a giant 
of a man — six feet high, and of enormous proportions. The old 
families, once so rich and renowned, have dwindled down to about 
twenty. Some of their palaces are still sumptuous, but their glory 
is gone. Several of their former occupants are lying in prison 
among the hundreds—perhaps I ought to say thousands — of 










NAPLES. 


125 


victims to the jealousy and vengeance of the miserable tyrant who 
holds the throne. The lazzaroni are less numerous than formerly, 
and have lost something of their distinctive character. It is said, 
notwithstanding the misgovernment of the country, that Naples 
has improved and is still improving; the result of that irresistible 
tendency to progress which is now visible over the whole world. 
After all, things here are not worse, nay, not so bad as might 
have been expected. What might not be hoped from the eight 
millions of the Two Sicilies, under a good and wise government? 

In spite of the indolence prevalent here, there is a large amount 
of active and productive industry, though far less than there 
should be. On approaching Naples, one can hardly fail to be 
struck with the number of athletic men and vigorous women at 
work, with good effect, in the fields. The ground is usually tilled 
with the spade, the plow being little used. Women, in troops 
of twelve to twenty, hoe the trenches between the rows of wheat. 
They all have white cloths laid over their heads, after the Roman 
fashion, and invariably sport red petticoats, with boddices of 
green or yellow. Gold ear-rings and silver combs are universal 
with these female cultivators, even though barefoot. 

I had noticed the carrying of burdens of various kinds upon 
the head at Marseilles, where there is a set of women devoted to 
the practice. In Naples, the custom is more general. I have 
seen here three men carrying a grand piano in this way. It is 
amazing to see the immense burdens which are thus constantly 
transported from place to place. The head, here, seems to take 
the place of the hand-cart or wheelbarrow with us. What we 
dignify with the title of knoidedge-box, and conceive to be the 
throne of reason, is at Naples a servile drudge, and though not 
without brains, it is treated like a beast of burden. 

Among the manufactures of Naples, maccaroni takes a high 
rank. Along the road to Vesuvius, you see enormous quantities 
of it hung out on poles to dry. If I might speak of cooking it, I 
should say that the custom of basting it with gravy at Naples, is 
an abominable abuse of a very elegant invention. As to eating 


























126 NAPLES. 

it, the Neapolitans may challenge the world. It is one of the 
amusements of the stranger to order a quantity, and call on 
the loafers around to come and devour it. Discreetly ambitious to 
see all that ought to be seen, I bought a half dollar’s worth, in a 
crowded street, and had it cooked. When it was reeking with fat 
and parmesan, a shout was set up : “ Ho ! ye eaters of maccaroni, 
come to the feast! ” And come they did. First come, first served. 
Two huge paws were suddenly thrust into the dish, and down it 
went into the cavernous gullets of two lazzaroni, hot and hissing as 
it was. It disappeared as if it was plunged into bottomless pits. 
There was no strangling and no choking. It was done as easily 
as the “ twa dips and twa swallops” of treacle, hawked about in 
Edinburgh for a “ bawbee.” Two such salamander gluttons I do 
not expect to see again. 

The “ working” of coral is carried to great perfection here; 
and bracelets in this material may be had at prices as high as 
$150. A single breastpin often sells for $100. The carvings in 
lava are beautiful, and reach to the rank of a fine art. Nearly 
every poetic and historical subject of Greek and Roman antiquity, 
may be had exquisitely wrought in these charming reliefs. 

The beautiful bay and the enchanting shores round Naples 
give encouragement to a multitude of boatmen, who are allowed 
a stand in the most favored part of the city. On a fine day, 
trips to Capri and Ischia are easily and safely made, and nothing 
can be more delightful. The resources of Naples for boat¬ 
sailing are unrivaled, both in the pleasure of the excursions 
themselves, and in the interesting scenes to which they introduce 
the excursionist. 

I pass by, unnoticed, the long processions of priests, frequently 
visible in this gay and picturesque city, as well as the masses of 
troops constantly seen marching in one direction or another: I 
say nothing of the lugubrious fraternities of misericordia, passing 
the dead on their way to the tomb. All these have been often 
described. I must even let the harlequin costumes of the country- 
people, in the market-places, go undescribed. But there is one 











NAPLES. 


127 


conspicuous inhabitant of this city to which justice has not been 
done, and therefore I beg leave to say a few words respecting 

him. 

The Ass is an animal not very common in our country ; but in 
Europe, Asia, and Africa, it is really one of the great, common 
blessings of society. It is too slow for us : we must have railways 
and electric telegraphs ; but in many eastern lands, it is exactly 
suited to the lazy, languid habits of the people. In France, 
Switzerland, Italy, and Greece, it is particularly the friend and 
helper of the poor. Those who cannot afford to ride in coaches 
drawn by horses, can still own an ass. He will toil for them, and 
ask little in return. He will take kicks and stripes, and still 
patiently carry his master on his back, or transport his vegetables 
to market. He will bear any burden he can stand under, and 
will be satisfied with thistles and pure water for his living. 

In some of the cities of Italy, and especially at Naples, there is 
an astonishing number of these animals. This place is famous 
for the incessant outcries of people selling various things in the 
streets. A love of noise seems to characterize this buzzing race 
of perambulating traders. The outcries of venders of friction- 
matches and oranges, and other trifles, are absolutely deafening. 
The vociferation is usually in proportion to the insignificance of 
the articles offered for sale. 

But the eloquence of these gifted sons of thunder, is quite 
outdone by that of the ass. Among the obtrusive sounds of this 
sonorous city, his voice is conspicuous. It begins in the morning 
and ceases not till midnight. As a general thing, it may be 
remarked that the music of nature is sad: the cricket on the 
hearth, the nightingale in the grove, the owl in the wood, the 
wolf in the glen, the jackal in the desert, all have melancholy 
and plaintive voices, set to melancholy melodies. But the bray of 
the Neapolitan ass is deeper, wider, more desponding. It seems 
the wail of one not only broken-hearted, but utterly without hope. 
It begins in woe and ends in despair. It sounds like a rasp in 
agony, or a file giving up the ghost. It is half tender, and half 


































128 NAPLES. 

misanthropic. • It is the outpouring of a bosom overwhelmed with 
sorrow and rendered malignant by injury. It is now a bellow 
and now a sigh — a mingled blessing and curse. It rings far and 
wide upon the air. In the city, it echoes from street to street; in 
the adjacent country, it trembles from the valley up the hill-side 
to the mountain top. 

It is strange the world can laugh at such sad melody — which, 
in fact, seems a pathetic appeal to earth and heaven against abuse, 
injustice, and imposition. You see one of these mild, patient, 
sapient creatures crawling along, like Issachar of old, between 
two burdens, and, as lie staggers beneath his load, you laugh to 
hear him bray an awful bray, as if he would blow out his bowels 
in the effort! And yet, historically, the ass is the most honored 
of brutes. Our Savior rode an ass into Jerusalem; Bonaparte 
crossed the Alps on a mule — the ass’s first cousin. Esop, as well 
as other sensible fabulists, has made him the oracle of wit and 
wisdom. Balaam’s ass spoke, and to the purpose. The instincts 
of the ass are as marvelous as his virtues. Nay, if rightly viewed, 
he is beautiful; for, of all beasts, he contributes most to the em¬ 
bellishment of a landscape. 

Having thus done some justice to this amiable and excellent 
creature, I must say a word of another animal, conspicuous in this 
city of strong lights and deep shadows—namely, the Goat. This 
is usually associated with the ass, and, like that, is given up to a 
sort of general contempt merely because it is a friend of the poor; 
but to me it is interesting, because it is not only useful, but it is 
one of the liveliest and most cheerful and sociable of four-footed 
things. When young, it is the very personification of grace, frolic 
and fun; when old, it is sage, familiar, industrious, and moral. In 
our country, this animal is comparatively rare: with our rich 
pastures we can afford to keep cows, and therefore do not need 
to rely upon the saving, economical goat, who can get a living 
amid barren hill-sides and moss-covered rocks. But what would 
Naples do without goats? Indeed, what would Italy, and Greece, 
and Switzerland, and the Tyrol, do without them ? 













NAPLES. 


129 


In Naples, they arc a study. You must know that neither this 
city nor the vicinity has any pastures. All the arable land is 
occupied with gardens and vineyards. The few cows which 
furnish milk to the rich and to the hotels, are fed on grass, cut by 
hand, and on grain and garden vegetables. The avenues to the 
city arc at evening crowded with women carrying fresh bundles 
of cow-feed on their heads. What would the rest of the people 
do for milk, if it were not for the goats ? 

These creatures come into the city at evening by thousands, 
attended by their herdsmen. In the morning they go forth again 
to their grazing, such as it is. They carry little bells on their 
necks, and their tinkling at even-tide and early morn, is a gentle 
kind of music, soon associated with all recollections of Naples. 
In passing through the grotto of Posilipo, I have seen at once 
twenty flocks of thirty each. They come and go with the steady 
march of so manv sages. I never saw among them a single 
reprobate. 

They get their living in the steep]ing rocks and dizzy declivities 
around the city, and thus convert from idle waste to useful 
purposes, the vagrant vegetation of the sterile portions of the soil. 
Their milk is thin and tasteless, say the epicures, but it is better 
than none. Nay, the physicians of Naples prescribe a tumbler of 
goat’s milk every morning about spring time, as a guarantee ol 
health for the season. What admirable economists, what thrifty 
graziers, what blessed mediciners are these creatures! Yet the 
world gives them a name which is synonymous with contempt. 
“ As silly as a goat,” says the proverb! 

The world is certainly wrong; and so think the Neapolitans^ 
for in truth they cherish these animals with all the kindness of 
fellow-feeling and mutual affection. There are few sights more 
interesting to me, than the boy or girl goat-herds in the midst of 
their flocks, upon the craggy hill-sides of Italy. However listless 
may seem the master of the flock, his eye is upon each and all. 
A straggler is readily brought in by a whistle or a call. The 
daring and diligence of the goats are marvelous. From morning 









































130 


NAPLES. 


to night they cease not their activity. They climb giddy rocks, 
and fearlessly kneel down on the edges and reach over their heads 
to get at the tufts of grass, sprouting from the fissures. It makes 
one dizzy to see these desperate feats, which are performed, how¬ 
ever, with perfect coolness. They pluck the leaves from briars 
and thorns; they gather succulent stalks from dark ravines and 
hidden crevices ; they stand upon their hind legs and strip off the 
leaves from the drooping branches of the trees. And all this is 
done with a neat dexterity, and a crisp, hearty manner, betokening 
cheerfulness, good will, and good appetite. Others may laugh at 
these creatures, but I claim the privilege of thinking them a very 
moral and picturesque generation. 


✓ 

























THE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMBEL. 

OW remote — how vast are the historical associations 
which the very name of Egypt excites in the mind! 

The annals of this country not only embrace the entire 
period of sacred history from Abraham to the Christian dispen¬ 
sation, but, in its profane history, it seems to issue at once from 
the mists of time, already a great and powerful nation. To us, 
Egypt has no historical infancy. Evidence remains in the ruins 
of her vast structures, of her maturity four thousand years ago. 
These are the records of her social condition at that period ; and 
the earliest historians, and the latest and most profound inquirers, 
confirm the claim which her imperishable pyramids and temples 
offer to her ancient greatness. 

The discovery by which the hieroglyphic records of Egyptian 
history have become legible, and a lost language recovered, is 

one almost unparalleled in human research. It is not more than 

11311 


TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMliEL AS IT NOW Al’PF, AltS. 
































132 


THE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMBEL. 



TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMBEL, RESTORED. 


thirty years ago that this discovery was made: before that time, 
our knowledge of this most ancient people was chiefly derived 
from Herodotus, who traveled in Egypt at a period low in the 
date of her history, though this historian is the most ancient of 
profane authorities. He wrote on Egypt in the fifth century E. C.: 
and from materials furnished by tradition and the priesthood, 
sketched her history. But he wrote of a people whose high 
civilization and established government had existed two thousand 
vears before his visit to their land, and a thousand vears after the 
















































THE ROCK TEMPLE OP ABOO-SIMBEL. 133 

eighteenth dynasty of her kings—the most glorious period oflier 
annals. 

When the “Father of History” visited Egypt, she had fallen 
from her greatness, and was under the government of the Persians ; 
but she had been conquered and ruled by the Ethiopians and 
Saites, before the destructive curse of the Persian invasion under 
Cambyses, which occurred 520 13. C. The hatred of\his monarch 
to the people of the Valley of the Nile led him to destroy many 
of their monuments: the strength of others defied his power; lie 
tried in vain to demolish those records which are still legible to 
us, the “ hand-writing on the wall ” of their own history. These 
hieroglyphics, which had become and remained a mystery for 
nearly two thousand years, have been disclosed in our own day. 
The very writings which might have been, and doubtless were 
read by Abraham, which were familiar to Joseph, and in which 
Moses “ was learned,” still remain to us. These inscriptions on 
their monuments were left by the ancient Egyptians themselves; 
they are not copies or translations, but the actual characters 
which these patriarchs might have beheld, and which we can still 
behold—the original traces on stone, from which we can yet read 
much of the history of those who left them there, three or four 
thousand years ago. 

Among all the stupendous monuments of antiquity found in the 
valley of the Nile, nothing strikes the beholder with more aston¬ 
ishment than the remains of the great Temple of Aboo-Simbel, 
which are situated in Nubia, on the west bank of the Nile, in 
latitude 22° 22'. At this place, it appears, that the valley of this 
river is contracted to a narrow space, and on the left side consists 
of a wall of rocks : this has been fashioned, thousands of years 
ago, into the fronts of two edifices, called the lesser and larger 
Temples of Aboo-Simbel. Both were discovered by Burckhardt ; 
the first he called the Temple of Isis ; the latter, which exceeds 
in magnitude any other work of the kind, is now regarded as 
having been erected by Sesostris, or as he is more generally 
called, Remeses II, who flourished nearly forty centuries ago. 













134 THE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMBEL. 

The discovery of this extraordinary temple was made by Burck- 
hardt, on his return from Mahass, after an ineffectual attempt to 
reach Dongola, in the spring of 1813. He had visited the lesser 
temple, and having, as he supposed, seen all the antiquities here, 
he was about to ascend the sandy side of the mountain by the same 
path that he had descended, when “ having,” as he says, “ luckily 
turned more to the southward, I fell in with what is still visible, 
the front of a temple, consisting of four immense colossal statues, 
cut out of the rock, at a distance of about two hundred yards from 
the lesser temple. They stand in a deep recess, excavated in the 
mountain ; but it is greatly to be regretted that they are now 
almost entirely buried beneath the sands, which are bloAvn down 
here, in torrents. The entire head and part of the breast and 
arms of one of the statues arc yet above the surface.” 

In 1816, Belzoni ascended the Nile into Nubia, with the inten¬ 
tion of opening the great Temple of Aboo-Simbel, and commenced 
his undertaking ; but the chiefs of the country threw so many 
obstacles in his way, that at length his funds failed, and lie was 
obliged to discontinue, but not until he had cleared downwards 
twenty feet in the front of the temple. It is remarkable that this 

is the first time the natives learned the use of monev as a reeom- 

%> 

pense for labor. 

In the spring of 1817, he returned to his excavations at Aboo- 
Simbel, accompanied by Mr. Beechey. At Pliiloe, they had the 
good fortune to be joined by Captains Irby and Mangles, then 
on their journey in the East. The united exertions of these gen¬ 
tlemen accomplished the entrance to the Great Temple, in defiance 
of the dangers and difficulties thrown in their way, and which 
are most interestingly narrated in Irby and Mangles’ travels. 
Belzoni and his friends removed forty feet of sand, which had 
accumulated above the top of the door, before the recent excava¬ 
tions ; but they carried them no further than three feet below the 
top of the entrance, when they effected their passage into this tem¬ 
ple, and saw the most extraordinary work that remains to us of the 
age of Remeses II. Belzoni describes its facade as one hundred 










THE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMBEL. 135 

and seventeen feet wide and eighty-six feet high ; the height from 
the top of the cornice to the top of the door being sixty-six feet 
six inches, and the height of the door twenty feet. 

Each of these enormous statues—the largest in Egypt or 
Nubia, except the Sphinx of the Pyramid — measures from the 
shoulder to the elbow fifteen feet six inches, the face seven feet, 
the ears three feet six inches, across the shoulders twenty-five feet 
four inches. Their height, as they sit, is about fifty-one feet, not 
including the caps, which are about fourteen feet. These, the 
most beautiful colossi yet found in any of the Egyptian ruins, 
represent Remeses II; they are seated on thrones attached to the 
rock. On the sides, and on the front angles of the thrones, and 
between the legs of the statues, are sculptured female figures, 
supposed to be of his wife and children ; they are well preserved, 
though the material is a coarse, friable gritstone. During the exe¬ 
cution, defects in the stone were filled and smoothed with stucco, 
and afterwards painted, of which traces yet remain. The upper 
part of the second figure has fallen, but the faces of these colossi 
exhibit a beauty of expression the more striking as it is unlooked 
for in statues of such dimensions. 

Such is the external aspect of this amazing structure. Its 
enormous proportions — the awful repose impressed upon the 
countenances of the gigantic images—its manifest formation of 
a part of the solid rock—all combine to produce an impression 
of almost overwhelming sublimity upon the beholder. When the 
inquirer goes back to the time of its builder, an epoch of perhaps 
four thousand years ago, and reflects upon the appearance which 
it then presented, and especially during the solemn and sumptuous 
religious festivities of that remote era*—contrasting all with the 
utter solitude and desolation which now reign over the scene— 
it is impossible not to experience the most profound emotions of 
wonder and of awe. 

* The engraving, p. 132, is intended to represent this temple, as it appeared in its 
original condition. 












136 THE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMBEL. 

But however deep may be the feelings thus inspired, they are 
still enhanced when we coine to enter the temple itself. The access 
was accomplished under the superintendence, and chiefly by the 
active, personal exertions, of the travelers, whose names will 
always be associated with Aboo-Simbel — amidst difficulties, 
threats, privations and excessive labor, “and continued/’ says 
Belzoni, “during twenty-two days, besides eight days in 1816, 
after working eight hours a day, with the thermometer in the 
shade, at an average of 114° Fahrenheit.” 

As soon as the sand had been cleared away three feet from the 
top of the door, these determined men entered, and enjoyed the 
reward of their labor in bringing again to human sight the finest 
and most extensive of the excavated temples of Nubia, after its 
concealment from the knowledge of mankind for probably 3,000 
years. 

“ From what we could perceive at the first view,” says Belzoni, 

“ it was evidently a large place, but our astonishment increased, 
when we found it to be one of the most magnificent temples, 
enriched with beautiful intaglios, paintings, colossal figures, Ac. 

We entered at first into a large pronaos, fifty-seven feet long and 
fifty-two wide, supported by two rows of square pillars, in a line 
from the front door to the door of the sekos. Each pillar has a 
figure not unlike those of Medinet-Aboo, finely executed, and very 
little injured by time ; the tops of their turbans reach the ceiling, 
which is about thirty feet high ; the pillars are about five feet 
and a half square. Both these and the walls are covered with 
beautiful hieroglyphics, the style of which is somewhat superior, 
or at least bolder, than that of any others in Egypt, not only in 
the workmanship, but also in the subject. They exhibit battles, 
storming of castles, triumphs over the Ethiopians, sacrifices, Ac. 

Some of the colors are much injured by the close and heated 
atmosphere, the temperature of which was so hot, that the ther¬ 
mometer must have risen to above 130°.” 

Beyond the pronaos are two other chambers before reaching 
the adytum, or sanctuary ; out of each of the central chambers of 















--- 

THE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-SIMBEL. 137 

the temple, doors lead into lateral chambers; altogether, eight 
rooms open on the grand hall. The entire length excavated 
from the entrance to the adytum, is estimated at nearly two hun¬ 
dred feet, beside the colossi and the slope of the facade. 

Mr. Roberts, the artist, who has painted such admirable sketches 
of the wonders of Egypt and the Holy Land, says, “ On descend¬ 
ing into the splendid hall, over the sand, which again almost 
reaches to the top of the door, a double row is seen of colossal 
figures, representing Remeses the Great, attached to square pil¬ 
lars, which appear to support the roof; the placid expression of 
these statues is still finer than that of the colossi without. There 
arc four on each side, their arms crossed on their breasts, and 
bearing in their hands the crook and the scourge — emblems of 
government or power; those on one side wear the high conical 
cap, and on the other, what is called the corn-measure. The 
walls and pillars are covered with the most interesting sculptured 
representations of the victories of Remeses, painted in vivid 
colors, and in excellent preservation ; across the roof are repe¬ 
titions of the sacred falcon. 

“ The principal decorations of the interior are the historical 
subjects, relating to the conquests of Remeses II, represented in 
the great hall. A large tablet, containing the date of his first 
year, extends over the great part of the north wall ; another, 
between the two last pillars on the opposite side of this hall, of 
his thirty-fifth year, has been added long after the temple was 
completed.” 

Such is one of the scenes found in Nubia, a country almost hid¬ 
den from the world for centuries, and even now only known to us 
by its crumbling ruins and fleeting traditions. What a striking 
contrast does this majestic antiquity, this imposing desolation, 
decay and death, present to the aspects of things around us here 
in America, where all is recent, youthful and progressive, yet 
cheerful as the lines of the rainbow! Who can venture to foretell 
what shall be the condition of things here, when four thousand 
years shall have rolled away ? One point is certain, that whether 















138 TIIE ROCK TEMPLE OF ABOO-S1MBEL. 

the nations shall live or die, no temple like that ol Aboo-feimbel 
will here exist, to chronicle in rock-hewn architecture, a gigantic 
image like that of Sesostris, which Time itself cannot destroy. 
Such things only belong to the past 

j 

I 

















THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 



N the 28th of August, 185G, the Dudley Observatory, at 
Albany* was inaugurated with imposing ceremonies. The 
chief feature of the occasion, was the Oration by Edward 
Everett, which is not merely remarkable for its beauty of thought 
and expression, but its important historical facts, and admirable 
illustrations of discovery, art, and science. The tone of feeling, 
throughout the performance, is elevating, and not unfrequently 
rises into sublimity. We cannot, therefore, do a better service to 
our readers than to give it a place in these pages. The Oration 
is as follows: 


* The Dudley Observatory stands a mile from the Capitol, in the city of Albany, 
on the crest of a steep hill: its form is that of a Latin cross. It is of two stories, and 
is quite the most elegant structure in the United States, devoted to a similar object. 
The astronomical instruments provided for the institution, are of the most recent and 
approved construction. 

[ 139 ] 











































140 


THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


“ Assembled as we are, under your auspices, in this ancient and 
hospitable city, for an object indicative of a highly-advanced 
stage of scientific culture, it is natural, in the first place, to cast a 
historical glance at the past. It seems almost to surpass belief, 
though an unquestioned fact, that more than a century should 
have passed away, after Cabot had discovered the coast of North 
America for England, before any knowledge was gained of the 
noble river on which your city stands, and which was destined by 
Providence to determine, in after times, the position of the com¬ 
mercial metropolis of the Continent. It is true that Verazzano, 
a bold and sagacious Florentine navigator, in the service of 
France, had entered the Narrows in 1524, which he describes as 
a very large river, deep at its mouth, which forced its way through 
steep hills to the sea; but though he, like all the naval adventurers 
of that age, was sailing westward in search of a shorter passage 
to India, he left this part of the coast without any attempt to 
ascend the river; nor can it be gathered from his narrative that 
lie believed it to penetrate far into the interior. 

Uonagc of penbrick pubsou. 

“Near a hundred years elapsed before that great thought 
acquired substance and form. In the spring of 1609, the heroic 
but unfortunate Hudson, one of the brightest names in the history 
of English maritime adventure, but then in the employment of the 
•Dutch East India Company, in a vessel of eighty tons, bearing 
the very astronomical name of the Half Moon, having been stopped 
by the ice in the Polar Sea, in the attempt to reach the East by 
the way of Nova Zembla, struck over to the coast of America in 
a high northern latitude. lie then stretched down southwardly 
to the entrance of Chesapeake Bay, of which he had gained a 
knowledge from the charts and descriptions of his friend, Captain 
Smith; thence returning to the north, entered Delaware Bay; 
standing out again to sea, arrived on the second of September in 
sight of the ‘high hills’ of Neversink, pronouncing it ‘a good 
































THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


141 


land to fall in with, and a pleasant land to see;’ and, on the 
following morning, sending his boat before him to sound the way, 
passed Sandy Hook, and there came to anchor on the third of 
September. 100 ( J ; two hundred and forty-seven years ago next 
Wednesday. What an event, my friends, in the history of 
American population, enterprise, commerce, intelligence, anti 
power—the dropping of that anchor at Sandy Hook! 

^Itstobcrg of the P«bsoir |libfr. 

‘ Here lie lingered a week, in friendly intercourse with the 
natives of New Jersey, while a boat’s company explored the 
waters up to Newark Bay. And now the great question : shall 
lie turn back, like Verazzano, or ascend the stream? Hudson 
was of a race not prone to turn back, by sea or by land. On the 
eleventh of September he raised the anchor of the Half Moon, 
passed through the Narrows, beholding on both sides ‘ as beautiful 
a land as one can tread on ; ’ and floated cautiously and slowly 
up the noble stream—the first ship that ever rested on its bosom. 
He passed the Palisades, nature’s dark basaltic MalakofF; forced 
the iron gateway of the Highlands; anchored, on the fourteenth, 
near West Point; swept onward and upward, the following day, 
by grassy meadows and tangled slopes, hereafter to be covered 
with smiling villages; by elevated banks and woody heights, the 
destined site of towns and cities—of Newburg, Poughkeepsie 
Catskill: on the evening of the fifteenth arrived opposite ‘ the 
mountains which lie from the river side,’ where he found ‘a very 
loving people and very old men ; ’ and the day following sailed 
by the spot hereafter to be honored by his own illustrious name. 
One more day wafts him up between Schodac and Castleton ; and 
here he landed and passed a day with the natives — greeted with 
all sorts of barbarous hospitality—the land ‘the finest for culti¬ 
vation he ever set foot on,’ the natives so kind and gentle, that, 
when they found he would not remain with them over night, and 
feared that he left them—poor children of nature!—because he 
































142 


THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


was afraid of their weapons—he, whose quarter-deck was heavy 
with ordnance—they ‘broke their arrows in pieces and threw 
them in the lire. - ’ On the following morning, with the early 
flood-tide, on the nineteenth of September, 1609, the Half Moon 
‘ran higher up, two leagues above the Shoals,’ and came to 
anchor in deep water, near the site of the present city of Albany. 
Happy if lie could have closed his gallant career on the banks of 
the stream which so justly bears his name, and thus have escaped 
the sorrowful and mysterious catastrophe which awaited him the 
next year. 

Clrnnphun’s Ronage anb the grofotb of Colonics. 

“ But the discovery of your great river and of the site of your 
ancient city, is not the only event which renders the year 1609 
memorable in the annals of America and the world. It Avas one 
of those years in which a sort of sympathetic movement toward 
great results unconsciously pervades the races and the minds of 
men. While Hudson discovered this mighty river and this vast 
region for the Dutch East India Company, Champlain, in the 
same year, carried the lilies of France to the beautiful lake which 
bears his name on your northern limits; the languishing estab¬ 
lishments of England in Virginia Avere strengthened by the second 
charter granted to that colony; the little church of Robinson 
removed from Amsterdam to Leyden, from which, in a feAv years, 
they went forth to lay the foundations of Ncav England on 
Plymouth Rock; the seven United Provinces of the Netherlands, 
after that terrific struggle of forty years—the commencement of 
Avliich has just been embalmed in a record worthy of the great 
event, by an American historian—wrested from Spain the virtual 
acknowledgement of their independence, in the TavcIa'O Years’ 
Truce; and James the First, in the same year, granted to the 
British East India Company their first permanent charter— 
corner-stone of an empire destined in tAvo centuries to overshadow 
the East. 






























THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


143 


fliaULto’s Jpiscobtrics. 

“ One move incident is wanting to complete the list of the 
memorable occurrences which signalize the year 1009, and one 
most worthy to be remembered by us’ on this occasion. Cotem- 
poraneously with the events which I have enumerated—eras of 
history, dates of empire, the starting-point in sonic of the greatest 
political, social, and moral revolutions in our annals—an Italian 
astronomer, who had heard of the magnifying glasses which had 
been made in Holland, by which distant objects could be brought 
seemingly near, caught at the idea, constructed a telescope, and 
pointed it to the heavens. Yes, my friends, in the same year in 
which Hudson discovered your river and the site of your ancient 
town—in which Robinson made his melancholy hegira from 
Amsterdam to Leyden —Galileo Galilei, with a telescope, the 
work of his own hands, discovered the phases of Venus and the 
satellites of Jupiter; and now—after the lapse of less than two 
centuries and a half, on a spot then embosomed in the wilderness, 
the covert of the least civilized of all the races of men—we are 
assembled—descendants of the Hollanders, descendants of the 
Pilgrims—in this ancient and prosperous city, to inaugurate the 
establishment of a first-class Astronomical Observatory. 


Orarlg .Chips of Albmig. 


“ One more glance at your early history. Three years after 
the landing of the Pilgrims at Plymouth, Fort Orange was erected, 
in the center of what is now the business part of the city of 
Albany; and, a few years later, the little hamlet of Beverswyck 
began to nestle under its walls. Two centuries ago, my Albanian 
friends, this very year, and I believe this very month of August, 
your forefathers assembled, not to inaugurate an observatory, but 
to lay the foundations of a new church, in the place of the rude 
cabin which had hitherto served them in that capacity. It was 
built at the intersection of Yonker’s and Handelaar’s, better 














144 


THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


known to you as State and Market streets. Public and private 
liberality cooperated in the important work. The authorities 
at the Fort gave fifteen hundred guilders; the patroon of that 
early day, with the liberality coeval with the name and the 
race, contributed a thousand; while the inhabitants, for whose 
benefit it was erected, whose numbers were small and their 
resources smaller, contributed twenty beavers ‘ for the purchase 
of an oaken pulpit in Holland.’ Whether the largest part of 
this subscription was bestowed by some liberal benefactress, 
tradition has not informed us. 

Amskrbam. 

“ Nor is the year 1G56 memorable in the annals of Albany 
alone. In that same year your imperial metropolis, then number¬ 
ing about three hundred inhabitants, was first laid out as a city, 
by the name of New Amsterdam. In eight years more, New 
Netherland becomes New York; Fort Orange and its dependent 
hamlet assumes the name of Albany. A century of various 
fortune succeeds ; the scourge of French and Indian war is rarely 
absent from the land; every shock of European policy vibrates 
with electric rapidity across the Atlantic; but the year 175G 
finds a population of 300,000 in your growing province. Albany, 
however, may still be regarded almost as a frontier settlement. 
Of the twelve counties into which the province was divided a 
hundred years ago, the county of Albany comprehended all that 
lay north and west of the city; and the city itself contained but 

about three hundred and fiftv houses. 

%/ 

®4oo purrbreb lira vs. 

“ One more century: another act in the great drama of empire; 
another French and Indian war beneath the banners of England ; 
a successful Revolution, of which some of the most momentous 
events occurred within your limits; a union of States; a Consti- 





















THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 145 

tution of Federal Government; your population carried to the 
St. Lawrence and the great Lakes, and their waters poured into 
the Hudson; your territory covered with a net-work of canals 
and railroads, filled with life, and action, and power, with all the 
works of peaceful art and prosperous enterprise, with all the 
institutions which constitute and advance the civilization of the 
age; its population exceeding that of the Union at the date of 
the Revolution ; your own numbers twice as large as those of the 
largest city of that day—you have met together, my friends, just 
two hundred years since the erection of the little church of 
Beverswyck, to dedicate a noble temple of science, and to take a 
becoming public notice of the establishment of an institution, 
destined, as we trust, to exert a beneficial influence on the progress 
of useful knowledge at home and abroad, and through that, on 
the general cause of civilization. 

Slicitirtlfie progress. 

“You will observe that I am careful to say, the progress of 
science 4 at home and abroad; ’ for the study of Astronomy in this 
country has long since, I am happy to add, passed that point 
where it is content to repeat the observations and verify the 
results of European research. It has boldly and successfully 
entered the field of original investigation, discovery, and specula¬ 
tion ; and there is not now a single department of the science, in 
which the names of American observers and mathematicians are 
not cited by our brethren across the water, side by side with the 
most eminent of their European contemporaries. 

44 This state of things is certainly recent. During the colonial 
period, and in the first generation after the Revolution, no depart¬ 
ment of science was, for obvious causes, very extensively cultivated 
in America — astronomy perhaps as much as the kindred branches. 
The improvement in the quadrant, commonly known as Hadley’s, 
had already been made at Philadelphia, by Godfrey, in the early 
part of the last century; and the beautiful invention of the col- 
10 








THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


140 

limating telescope was made at a later period by Ritteniiouse, 
an astronomer of distinguished repute. The transits of Venus of 
1701 and 1709 were observed, and orreries were constructed in 
different parts of the country; and some respectable scientific 
essays arc contained, and valuable observations arc recorded, in 
the early volumes of the Transactions of the Philosophical Society, 
at Philadelphia, and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 
at Boston and Cambridge. But, in the absence of a numerous 
class of men of science to encourage and aid each other, without 
observatories and without valuable instruments, little of impor¬ 
tance could be expected in the higher walks of astronomical life. 

^American: (Dbsrrtmtions. 

“ The greater the credit due for the achievement of an enterprise 
commenced in the early part of the present century, and which 
would reflect, honor on the science of any country and any age; 1 
mean the translation and commentary on Laplace’s Mecanique 
Celeste, by Bowditcii ; a work of whose merit I am myself wholly 
unable to form an opinion, but which 1 suppose places the learned 
translator and commentator on a level with the ablest astronomers 
and geometers of the day. This work may be considered as open¬ 
ing a new era in the history of American science. The country 
was still almost wholly deficient in instrumental power; but the 
want was generally felt by men of science, and flic public mind, 
in various parts of the country, began to be turned towards the 
means of supplying it. In 1825, President John Quincy Adams 
brought the subject of a National Observatory before Congress. 
Political considerations prevented its being favorably entertained 
at that time; and it was not till 1842, and as an incident of the 
exploring expedition, that an appropriation was made for a depot 
for the charts and instruments of the navy. On this modest basis 
' has been reared the National Observatory at Washington ; an 
institution which has already taken and fully sustains an honorable 
position among the scientific establishments of the age. 
















THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


117 


“ Besides the institution at Washington, fifteen or twenty ob¬ 
servatories have, within the last few years, been established in 
different parts of the country; some of them on a modest scale, 
for the gratification of the scientific taste and zeal of individuals, 
others on a broad foundation of expense and usefulness. In 
these establishments, public and private, the means are provided 
for the highest order of astronomical observation, research, and 
instruction. There is already in the country an amount of 
instrumental power—to which addition is constantly making—and 
of mathematical skill on the part of our men of science, adequate 
to a manly competition with their European contemporaries. The 
fruits are already before the world, in the triangulation of several 
of the Htatcs, in the great work of the Coast Survey, in the 
numerous scientific surveys of the interior of the continent, in 
the astronomical department of the Exploring Expedition, in the 
scientific expedition to Chili, in the brilliant hydrographical labors 
of the Observatory at Washington, in the published observations 
of Washington and Cambridge, in the Journal conducted by the 
Nestor of American Science, now in its eighth lustrum; in the 
Sidereal Messenger, the Astronomical Journal, and the National 
Ephemeris; in the great chronometrical expeditions to determine 
the longitude of Cambridge, better ascertained than that of Paris 
was till within the last year; in the prompt rectification of the 
errors in the predicted elements of Neptune; in its identification 
with Lalande’s missing star, and in the calculation of its ephe¬ 
meris; in the discovery of the satellite of Neptune, of the eighth 
satellite of Saturn, and of the innermost of its rings; in the 
establishment, both by observation and theory, of the non-solid 
character of Saturn’s rings; in the separation and measurement of 
many double and triple stars, amenable only to superior instrumen¬ 
tal power; in the immense labor already performed in preparing 
star catalogues, and in numerous accurate observations of standard 
stars; in the diligent and successful observation of the meteoric 
showers; in an extensive series of magnetic observations; in the 
discovery of an asteriod, and ten or twelve telescopic comets; 






















148 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

in the resolution of nebulas which had defied every thing in Europe 
but Lord Rosse’s great reflector ; in the application of electricity 
to the measurement of differences in longitude; in the ascertain¬ 
ment of the velocity of the electro-magnetic fluid, and its truly 
wonderful uses in recording astronomical observations. These 
are but a portion of the achievements of American astronomical 
science within fifteen or twenty years, and fully justify the most 
sanguine anticipations of its further progress. 

“ How far our astronomers may be able to pursue their researches, 
will depend upon the resources of our public institutions, and the 
liberality of wealthy individuals in furnishing the requisite means. 
With the exception of the observatories at Washington and West 
Point, little can be done, or be expected to be done, by the 
government of the Union or the States; but in this, as in every 
other department of liberal art and science, the great dependence 
—and may I not add, the safe dependence?—as it ever has been, 
must continue to be upon the bounty of enlightened, liberal, and 
public-spirited individuals. 

i 

KIic ItlubLen ©Irserfratarn. 

U WP *5 

“ It is by a signal exercise of this bounty, my friends, that we 
are called together to-day. The munificence of several citizens of 
this ancient city, among whom the first place is due to the gener¬ 
ous lady whose name has with great propriety been given to the 
institution, has furnished the means for the foundation of the 
Dudley Observatory at Albany. On a commanding elevation on 
the northern edge of the city, liberally given for that purpose by 
the head of a family in which the patronage of science is heredi¬ 
tary, a building of ample dimensions has been erected, upon a plan 
which combines all the requisites of solidity, convenience, and 
taste. A large portion of the expense of the structure has been 
defrayed bv Mrs. Blandina Dudley ; to whose generosity, and 
that of several other public-spirited individuals, the institution is 
also indebted for the provision which has been made for an adequate 












THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 149 

supply of first-class instruments, to be executed by the most emi¬ 
nent makers in Europe and America ; and which, it is confidently 
expected, will yield to none of their class in any observatory in 
the world. 

“ With a liberal supply of instrumental power ; established in a 
community to whose intelligence and generosity its support may 
be safely confided, and whose educational institutions are rapidly 
realizing the conception of a university ; countenanced by the 
gentleman who conducts the United States Coast Survey with 
such scientific skill and administrative energy ; committed to the 
immediate supervision of an astronomer to whose distinguished 
talent has been added the advantage of a thorough scientilic edu¬ 
cation in the most renowned universities of Europe, and who, as 
the editor of the American Astronomical Journal , has shown 
himself to be fully qualified for the high trust: under these 
favorable circumstances, the Dudley Observatory at Albany takes 
its place among the scientific foundations of the country and the 
world. 

SStonkcrs rf ^stronomg. 

“ It is no affected modesty which leads me to express the regret 
that this interesting occasion could not have taken place under 
somewhat different auspices. I feel that the duty of addressing 
this great and enlightened assembly, comprising so much of the 
intelligence of the community and of the science of the country, 
ought to have been elsewhere assigned ; that it should have 
devolved upon some one of the eminent persons, many of whom I 
see before me, to whom you have been listening the past week, 
who, as observers and geometers, could have treated the subject 
with a master’s power ; astronomers, whose telescopes have pene¬ 
trated the depths of the heavens, or mathematicians, whose 
analysis unthreads the maze of their wondrous mechanism. If, 
instead of commanding, as you easily could have done, qualifica¬ 
tions of this kind, your choice has rather fallen on one making no 











150 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

pretensions to the honorable name of a man of science, but 
whose delight it lias always been to turn aside from the dusty 
paths of active life for an interval of recreation in the green fields 
of sacred nature in all her kingdoms, it is, I presume, because 
you have desired on an occasion of this kind, necessarily of a 
popular character, that those views of the subject should be 
presented which address themselves to the general intelligence of 
the community, and not to its select scientific circles. There is, 
perhaps, no branch of science which to the same extent as astron¬ 
omy exhibits phenomena which, while they task the highest powers 
of philosophical research, are also well adapted to arrest the 
attention of minds barely tinctured with scientific culture, and 
even to teach the sensibilities of the wholly uninstructed observer. 
The profound investigations of the chemist into the ultimate con¬ 
stitution of material nature, the minute researches of the physi¬ 
ologist into the secrets of animal life, the transcendental logic of 
the geometer, clothed in a notation the very sight of which ter¬ 
rifies the uninitiated — are lost on the common understanding. 
But the unspeakable glories of the rising and the setting sun, the 
serene majesty of the moon, as she walks in full-orbed brightness 
through the heavens ; the soft witchery of the morning and the 
evening star ; the imperial splendors of the firmament on a bright, 
unclouded night; the comet, whose streaming banner floats over 
half the sky — these are objects which charm and astonish alike 
the philosopher and the peasant, the mathematician who weighs 
the masses and defines the orbits of the heavenly bodies, and the 
untutored observer who sees nothing beyond the images painted 
upon the eye. 

is vm ^Lstrouonilcal Obserbatorn ? 

“ An astronomical observatory, in the general acceptation of 
the word, is a building erected for the reception and appropriate 
use of astronomical instruments, and the accommodation of the 
men of science employed in making and reducing observations of 
the heavenly bodies. These instruments are mainly of three 














THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 151 

classes, to which I believe all others of a strictly astronomical 
character may be referred. 

“ 1- The instruments by which the heavens are inspected, with a 
view to discover the existence of those celestial bodies which are 
not visible to the naked eye (beyond all comparison more numer¬ 
ous than those which are), and the magnitude, shapes, and other 
sensible qualities, both of those which are and those which are not 
thus visible to the unaided sight. The instruments of this class 
are designated by the general name of Telescope, and are of two 
kinds—the refracting telescope, which derives its magnifying- 
power from a system of convex lenses; and the reflecting teles¬ 
cope, which receives the image of the heavenly body upon a 
concave mirror. 

“ 2. The second class of instruments consists of those which are 
designed principally to measure the angular distances of the 
heavenly bodies from each other, and their time of passing the 
meridian. The transit instrument, the meridian circle, the mural 
circle, the heliometer, and the sextant, belong to this class. The 
brilliant discoveries of astronomy are, for the most part, made 
with the first class of instruments ; its practical results are 
wrought out by the second. 

“ 3d. The third class contains the clock, with its subsidiary 
apparatus, for measuring the time and making its subdivisions 
with the greatest possible accuracy—indispensable auxiliary of 
all the instruments, by which the positions and motions of the 
heavenly bodies are observed, and measured and recorded. 

<£be ftchstopt. 

“ The telescope may be likened to a wondrous cyclopean eye, 
endowed with superhuman power, by which the astronomer extends 
the reach of his vision to the further heavens, and surveys galaxies 
. and universes compared with which the solar system is but an 
atom floating in the air. The transit may be compared to the 
measuring rod which he lays from planet to planet, and from star 









152 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 



uerschel’s telescope.* 


to star, to ascertain and mark off the heaven]} 7 spaces, and trans¬ 
fer them to his note-book ; the clock is that marvelous apparatus 
by which he equalizes and divides into nicely measured parts a 
portion of that unconceived infinity of duration, without begin- 

* This is what is called a il reflecting telescope,” which, until recently, had attained 
the greatest celebrity. The total length of the tube is 39 feet 4 inches, and its clear 
diameter 4 feet 10 inches. It is constructed entirely of iron. It contains 1050 lbs. 
of metal. The reflecting surface is 12'56G square feet. It is placed in the observatory 
of Slough, a village twenty-one miles west of London. 















































THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 153 



loud rosse’s telescope.* 


niner and without end, in which all existence floats as on a 
shoreless and bottomless sea. 

“ In the contrivance and the execution of these instruments, the 

* This is the largest and most powerful telescope ever constructed. The clear 
aperture is 6 feet: the reflecting surface is 28'274 square feet; being greater than 
that of Herschel’s in the proportion of 7 to 3. It is used, at present, as a Newtonian 
telescope, but provision is made for using it as a Ilerschelian instrument. The great 
tube is of wood, hooped with iron; is 7 feet in diameter, and 52 in length. This noble 
instrument is at the seat of the Earl of Rosse, in Parsonstown, sixty-two miles 
W. S. W. of Dublin, Ireland. 








































































































154 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

utmost stretch of inventive skill and mechanical ingenuity has 
been put forth. To such perfection have they been carried, that 
a single second of magnitude or space is rendered a distinctly 
visible and appreciable quantity. ‘ The arc ot a circle/ says Sir 
J. Herschel, ‘ subtended by one second, is less than the 200,000th 
part of the radius, so that on a circle of six feet in diameter, it 
would occupy no greater linear extent than 1-5700 part of an inch, 
a quantity requiring a powerful microscope to be discerned at 
all.’ The largest body in our system, the sun, whose real diam¬ 
eter is 882,000 miles, subtends, at a distance of 95,000,000 miles, 
but an angle of little more than 32 ; while so admirably are the 
best instruments constructed, that both in Europe and America a 
satellite of Neptune, an object of comparatively inconsiderable 
diameter, has been discovered at a distance of 2,850 millions of 
miles. 

iEtilitg of ^Astronomical (Dbserbatuws. 

“ The object of an observatory, erected and supplied with instru¬ 
ments of this admirable construction, and at proportionate expense, 
is, as I have already intimated, to provide for an accurate and 
systematic survey of the heavenly bodies, with a view to a more 
correct and extensive acquaintance with those already known, 
and as instrumental power and skill in using it increase, to the 
discovery of bodies hitherto invisible, and in both classes to the 
determination of their distances, their relations to each other, 
and the laws which govern their movements. 

“ Why should we wish to obtain this knowledge ? What induce¬ 
ment is there to expend large sums of money in the erection of 
observatories, and in furnishing them with costly instruments, 
and in the support of the men of science employed in making, 
discussing, and recording, for successive generations, these minute 
observations of the heavenly bodies ? 

“ In an exclusively scientific treatment of this subject, an inquiry 
into its utilitarian relations would be superfluous — even weari- 








THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 155 

some. But on an occasion like the present, you will not, perhaps, 
think it out of place if I briefly answer the question, What is the 
use of an observatory, and what benefit may be expected from the 
operations of such an establishment in a community like ours ? 

“ 1. In the first place, then, we derive from the observations of 
the heavenly bodies which are made at an observatory, our only 
adequate measures of time, and our only means of comparing the 
time of one place with the time of another. Our artificial time¬ 
keepers— clocks, watches, and chronometers — however ingen¬ 
iously contrived and admirably fabricated, are but a transcript, 
so to say, of the celestial motions, and would be of no value 
without the means of regulating them by observation. It is 
impossible for them, under any circumstances, to escape the imper¬ 
fection of all machinery the work of human hands; and the 
moment we remove with our time-keeper east or west, it fails us. 
It will keep home time alone, like the fond traveler who leaves 
his heart behind him. The artificial instrument is of incalculable 
utility, but must itself be regulated by the eternal clock-work of 
the skies. 

Relations betfomv Natural ^phenomena anb flaihj ink. 

“ This single consideration is sufficient to show how completely 
the daily business of life is affected and controlled by the heavenly 
bodies. It is they — and not our main-springs, our expansion 
balances, and our compensation pendulums — which give us our 
time. To reverse the line of Pope : 

u£ ’Tis with our watches as our judgements: none 
Go just alike, but each believes his own.’ 

But for all the kindreds and tribes and tongues of men, each 
upon their own meridian, from the Arctic pole to the equator, 
from the equator to the Antarctic pole, the eternal sun strikes 
twelve at noon, and the glorious constellations, far up in the 
everlasting belfries of the skies, chime twelve at midnight: 









156 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

twelve for the pale student over his flickering lamp ; twelve amid 
the flaming glories of Orion’s belt, if he crosses the meridian at 
that fated hour ; twelve by the weary couch of languishing 
humanity ; twelve in the star-paved courts of the Empyrean ; 
twelve for the heaving tides of the ocean ; twelve for the w r eary 
arm of labor ; twelve for the toiling brain ; twelve for the watch¬ 
ing, waking, broken heart ; twelve for the meteor which blazes 
for a moment and expires ; twelve for the comet whose period is 
measured by centuries ; twelve for every substantial, for every 
imaginary thing, which exists in the sense, the intellect, or the 
fancy, and which the speech or thought of man, at the given 
meridian, refers to the lapse of time. 

“ Not only do we resort to the observation of the heavenly 
bodies for the means of regulating and rectifying our clocks, but 
the great divisions of day and month and year are derived from 
the same source. By the constitution of our nature, the elements 
of our existence are closely connected with celestial times. Partly 
by his physical organization, partly by the experience of the race 
from the dawn of creation, man as he is, and the times and sea¬ 
sons of the heavenly bodies, are part and parcel of one system. 
The first great division of time, the day-night, with its primal 
alternation of waking and sleeping, of labor and rest, is a vital 
condition of the existence of such a creature as man. The revo¬ 
lution of the year, with its various incidents of summer and 
winter, and seed-time and harvest, is not less involved in our 
social, material, and moral progress. It is true that at the poles, 
and on the equator, the effects of these revolutions are variously 
modified or wholly disappear ; but as the necessary consequence, 
human life is extinguished at the poles, and on the equator attains 
only a languid or feverish development. Those latitudes only in 
which the great motions and cardinal positions of the earth exert 
a mean influence, exhibit man in the harmonious expansion of his 
powers. The lunar period, which lies at the foundation of the 
month , is less vitally connected with human existence and devel¬ 
opment ; but is proved by the experience of every age and race 










THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 157 

to be eminently conducive to the progress of civilization and 
culture. 

“ But indispensable as are these heavenly measures of time to 
our life and progress, and obvious as are the phenomena on which 
they rest, yet owing to the circumstance that, in the economy of 
nature, the day, the month, and the year are not exactly commen¬ 
surable, some of the most difficult questions in practical astronomy 
are those by which an accurate division of time, applicable to the 
various uses of life, is derived from the observation of the heav¬ 
enly bodies. I have no doubt that, to the Supreme Intelligence 
which created and rules the universe, there is a harmony, hidden 
to us, in the numerical relation to each other of days, months, and 
years ; but in our ignorance of that harmony, their practical 
adjustment to each other is a work of difficulty. The great 
embarrassment which attended the reformation of the calendar, 
after the error of the Julian period had, in the lapse of centuries, 
reached ten, or rather twelve, days, sufficiently illustrates this 
remark. It is most true that scientific difficulties did not form 
the chief obstacle. Having been proposed under the auspices of 
a Roman pontiff, the Protestant world, for a century and more, 
rejected the new style. It was in various places the subject of 
controversy, collision, and bloodshed. It was not adopted in 
England till nearly two centuries after its introduction at Rome ; 
and in the country of Struve and the Pulkova equatorial, they 
persist at the present day in adding eleven minutes and twelve 
seconds to the length of the tropical year. 

©cogntpbirul Science. 

“ 2. The second great practical use of an Astronomical Observ¬ 
atory is connected with the science of geography. The first page 
of the history of our Continent declares this truth. Profound 
meditation on the sphericity of the earth was one of the main 
reasons which led Columbus to undertake his momentous voyage; 
and his thorough acquaintance with the astronomical science of 









158 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

that day was, in his own judgement, what enabled him to overcome 
the almost innumerable obstacles which attended its prosecution. 
In return, I find that Copernicus in the very commencement of 
his immortal work De Revolutionibus Orbium Coelesthim, fol. 2, 
appeals to the discovery of America as completing the demonstra¬ 
tion of the sphericity of the earth. Much of our knowledge of 
the figure, size, density, and position of the earth, as a member of 
the solar system, is derived from this science ; and it furnishes us 
the means of performing the most important operations of prac¬ 
tical geography. Latitude and longitude, which lie at the basis 
of all descriptive geography, are determined by observation. No 
map deserves the name, on which the position of important points 
has not been astronomically determined. Some even of our most 
important political and administrative arrangements depend upon 
the cooperation of this science. Among these I may mention the 
land system of the United States, and the determination of the 
boundaries of the country. I believe that till it was done by the 
Federal Government, a uniform system of mathematical survey 
had never in any country been applied to an extensive territory. 
Large grants and sales of public land took place before the 
Revolution, and in the interval between the peace and the adop¬ 
tion of the Constitution ; but the limits of these grants and sales 
were ascertained by sensible objects, by trees, streams, rocks, 
hills, and by reference to adjacent portions of territory, prev¬ 
iously surveyed. The uncertainty of boundaries thus defined, 
was a never-failing source of litigation. Large tracts of land in 
the western country, granted by Virginia under this old system 
of special and local survey, were covered with conflicting claims; 
and the controversies to which they gave rise formed no small 
part of the business of the Federal Court after its organization. 
Rut the adoption of the present land-system brought order out of 
chaos. The entire public domain is now scientifically surveyed 
before it is offered for sale ; it is laid off into ranges, townships, 
sections, and smaller divisions, with unerring accuracy, resting on 
the foundation of base and meridian lines ; and I have been 











THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


159 


informed that under this system, scarce a case of contested loca¬ 
tion and boundary lias ever presented itself in court. The 
General Land Office contains maps and plans, in which every 
quarter-section of the public land is laid down with mathematical 
precision. The superficies of half a continent is thus transferred 
in miniature to the bureau at Washington ; while the local Land 
Offices contain transcripts of these plans, copies of which are 
furnished to the individual purchaser. When we consider the 
tide of population annually flowing into the public domain, and 
the immense importance of its efficient and economical adminis¬ 
tration, the utility of this application of Astronomy will be duly 
estimated. 

“ I will here venture to repeat an anecdote, which I heard 
lately from a son of the late Hon. Timothy Pickering. Mr. 
Octavius Pickering, on behalf of his father, had applied to 
Mr. Dayid Putnam of Marietta, to act as his legal adviser, with 
respect to certain land claims in the Virginia Military district, in 
the State of Ohio. Mr. Putnam declined the agency. He had 
had much to do with business of that kind, and found it beset 
with endless litigation. ‘ I have never,’ he added, ‘ succeeded but 
in a single case, and that was a location and survey made by 
General Washington, before the Revolution; and I am not ac¬ 
quainted with any surveys, except those made by him, but what 
have been litigated.’ 

“ At this moment, a most important survey of the coast of the 
United States is in progress ; an operation of the utmost conse¬ 
quence, in reference to the commerce, navigation, and hydrography 
of the country. The entire work, I need scarce say, is one of 
practical astronomy. The scientific establishment which we this 
day inaugurate, is looked to for important cooperation in this 
great undertaking, and will no doubt contribute efficiently to its 
prosecution. 

“ Astronomical observation furnishes by far the best means of 
defining the boundaries of States, especially when the lines are 
of great length and run through unsettled countries. Natural 




















160 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

indications, like rivers and mountains, however indistinct in ap¬ 
pearance, are in practice subject to unavoidable error. By the 
treaty of 1783, a boundary was established between the United 
States and Great Britain, depending chiefly on the course of 
rivers and highlands dividing the waters which flow into the 
Atlantic Ocean from those which flow into the St. Lawrence. It 
took twenty years to find out which river was the true St. Croix, 
that being the starting point. England then having made the 
extraordinary discovery that the Bay of Fundy is not a part of 
the Atlantic Ocean, forty years more w^ere passed in the unsuc¬ 
cessful attempt to re-create the highlands which this strange 
theory had annihilated; and just as the two countries were on 
the verge of a war, the controversy was settled by compromise. 
Had the boundary been accurately described by lines of latitude 
and longitude, no dispute could have arisen. No dispute arose 
as to the boundary between the United States and Spain, and her 
successor, Mexico, where it runs through untrodden deserts and 
over pathless mountains, along the 42d degree of latitude. The 
identity of rivers may be disputed, as in the case of the St. Croix; 
the course of mountain chains is too broad for a dividing line; the 
division of streams, as experience has shown, is uncertain ; but a 
degree of latitude is written on the heavenly sphere, and nothing 
but an observation is required to read the record. 

I 

Questions of ^ounbarg. 

“ But scientific elements, like sharp instruments, must be handled 
with scientific accuracy. A part of our boundary between the 
British Provinces ran upon the forty-fifth degree of latitude; and 
about forty years ago, an expensive fortress was commenced by 
the government of the United States, at Rouse’s Point, on Lake 
Champlain, on a spot intended to be just within our limits. When 
a line came to be more carefully surveyed, the fortress turned out 
to be on the wrong side of the line; we had been building an 
expensive fortification for our neighbor. But in the general 










THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 161 

compromises of the Treaty of Washington by the Webster and 
Ashburton Treaty in 1842, the fortiiication was left within our 
limits. 

“ Errors still more serious had nearly resulted, a few years 
since, in a war with Mexico. By the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, 
in 1848, the boundary line between the United States and that 
country was in part described by reference to the town of El Paso, 
as laid down on a specified map of the United States, of which a 
copy was appended to the treaty. This boundary was to be 
surveyed and run by a joint commission of men of science. It 
soon appeared that errors of two or three degrees existed in the 
projection of the map. Its lines of latitude and longitude did not 
conform to the topography of the region; so that it became im¬ 
possible to execute the text of the* treaty. The famous Mesilla 
Valley was a part of the debatable ground; and the sum of 
$10,000,000, paid to the Mexican Government for that and for an 
additional strip of territory on the southwest, Avas the smart- 
money which expiated the inaccuracy of the map — the necessary 
result, perhaps, of the Avant of good materials for its construc¬ 
tion. 

“ It became my official duty in London, a few years ago, to 
apply to the British Government for an authentic statement of 
their claim to jurisdiction over Ncav Zealand. The official Gazette 
for the 2d of October, 1840, was sent me from the Foreign Office, 
as affording the desired information. This number of the Gazette 
contained the proclamations issued by the Lieutenant Governor 
of Ncav Zealand, 1 in pursuance of the instructions he received 
from the Marquis of Normanby, one of Her Majesty’s principal 
Secretaries of State,’ asserting the jurisdiction of his government 
over the islands of New Zealand, and declaring them to extend 
* from 34° 30' North to 47° 10' South latitude.’ It is scarcely 
necessary to say that south latitude Avas intended in both instances. 

This error of 69° of latitude, which would have extended the claim 
of British jurisdiction over the Avhole breadth of the Pacific, had, 
apparently, escaped the notice of that government. 

11 











162 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

Ctmtmmx anb |labigatton. 

“ It would be easy to multiply illustrations in proof of the great 
practical importance of accurate scientific designations, drawn 
from astronomical observations, in various relations connected 
with boundaries, surveys, and other geographical purposes; but I 
must hasten to 

“ 3. A third important department, in which the services ren¬ 
dered by astronomy are equally conspicuous. I refer to commerce 
and navigation. It is mainly owing to the results of astronomical 
observation, that modern commerce has attained such a vast ex¬ 
pansion, compared with that of the ancient world. I have already 
reminded you that accurate ideas in this respect, contributed 
materially to the conception in the mind of Columbus of his 
immortal enterprise, and to the practical success witli which it 
was conducted. It was mainly his skill in the use of astronomical 
instruments—imperfect as they were—which enabled him, in 
spite of the bewildering variation of the compass, to find his way 
across the ocean. 

‘‘With the progress of the true system of the universe toward 
general adoption, the problem of finding the longitude at sea 
presented itself. This was the avowed object of the foundation of 
the observatory at Greenwich ; and no one subject has received 
more of the attention of astronomers, than those investigations of 
the lunar theory on which the requisite tables of the navigator 
are founded. The pathways of the ocean are marked out in the 
sky above. The eternal lights of the heavens are the only pharos 
whose beams never fail, which no tempest can shake from its 
foundation. Within my recollection, it was deemed a necessary 
qualification for the master and the mate of a merchant-ship, and 
even for a prime hand, to be able to ‘ work a lunar/ as it was 
called. The improvements in the chronometer have in practice, 
to a great extent, superseded this laborious operation; but ob¬ 
servation remains, and unquestionably will for ever remain the, 









THE USES OP ASTRONOMY. 163 

only dependence for ascertaining the ship’s time, and deducing 
the longitude from the comparison of that time with the chro¬ 
nometer. 

It may, perhaps, be thought that astronomical science is 
brought already to such a state of perfection, that nothing more 
is to be desired, or at least that nothing more is attainable, in 
reference to such practicable applications as I have described. 
This, however, is an idea which generous minds will reject, in 
this, as in every other department of human knowledge. In 
astronomy, as in every thing else, the discoveries already made, 
theoretical or practical, instead of exhausting the science, or 
putting a limit to its advancement, do but furnish the means and 
instruments of further progress. I have no doubt we live on the 
verge of discoveries and inventions, in every department, as 
brilliant as any that have ever been made; that there are new 
truths, new facts, ready to start into recognition on every side; 
and it seems to me there never was an age, since the dawn of 
time, when men ought to be less disposed to rest satisfied with 
the progress already made, than the age in which we live; for 
there never was an age more distinguished for ingenious research, 
for novel result, and bold generalization. 

“ That no further improvement is desirable in the means and 
methods of ascertaining the ship’s place at sea, no one, I think, 
will from experience be disposed to assert. The last time I 
crossed the Atlantic, I walked the quarter-deck with the officer in 
charge of the noble vessel, on one occasion, when we were driving 
along before a leading breeze and under a head of steam, beneath 
a starless sky at midnight, at the rate certainly of ten or eleven 
miles an hour. There is something sublime, but approaching the 
terrible, in such a scene : the rayless gloom—the midnight chill — 
the awful swell of the deep—the dismal moan of the wind through 
the rigging—the all but volcanic fires within the hold of the 
ship. I scarce know an occasion in ordinary life, in which a 
reflecting mind feels more keenly its hopeless dependence on irra¬ 
tional forces beyond its own control. I asked my companion 













164 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

how nearly he could determine his ship’s place at sea, under 

favorable circumstances. Theoretically, he answered, I think, 

• 

within a mile; practically, and usually, within three or four. My 
next question was, how near do you think we may be to Cape Race? 
— that dangerous headland which pushes its iron-bound unlighted 
bastions from the shore of Newfoundland far into the Atlantic— 
first landfall to the homeward-bound American vessel. We must, 
said he, by our last observations and reckoning, be within three 
or four miles of Cape Race. A comparison of these two remarks, 
under the circumstances in which we were placed at the moment, 
brought my mind to the conclusion, that it is greatly to be wished 
that the means should be discovered of finding the ship’s place 
more accurately, or that navigators would give Cape Race a little 
wider berth. But I do not remember that one of the steam 
packets between England and America was ever lost on that 
formidable point. 

“ It appears to me by no means unlikely that, with the improve¬ 
ment of instrumental power, and of the means of ascertaining the 
ship’s time with exactness, as great an advance beyond the present 
state of art and science in finding a ship’s place at sea may take 
place, as was effected by the invention of the reflecting quadrant, 
the calculation of lunar tables, and the improved construction of 
chronometers. 

Cabbage’s |3 iff mate Ulacbine. 

“ In the wonderful versatility of the human mind, the improve¬ 
ment, when made, will very probably be made by paths where it 
is least expected. The great inducement to Mr. Babbage to 
attempt the construction of an engine by which astronomical 
tables could be calculated, and even printed, by mechanical means 
and with entire accuracy, was the errors in the requisite tables. 
Nineteen such errors, in point of fact, were discovered in an 
edition of ‘ Taylor’s Logarithms,’ printed in 1796 ; some of which 
might have led to the most dangerous results in calculating a 










THE USES OF iSTRONOMY. 165 

ship’s place. These nineteen errors, of which one only was an 
error of the press, were pointed out in the Nautical Almanac for 
1832. In one of these errata the seat of the error was stated to 
be in cosine of 14° 18' 3". Subsequent examination showed that 
there was an error of one second in this correction ; and, accord- 
i’ 1 the Nautical Almanac of the next year a new correction 
was necessary. But in making the new correction of one second, 
a new error was committed of ten degrees. Instead of cosine 

14° 18' 2", the correction was printed cosine 4° 18' 2", making it 
still necessary, in some future edition of the Nautical Almanac, 
to insert an erratum in an erratum of the errata in ‘Taylor’s 
Logarithms.’ 

“ In the hope of obviating the possibility of such errors, Mr. 
Babbage projected his calculating, or, as he prefers to call it, his 
difference machine. Although this extraordinary undertaking 
has been arrested, in consequence of the enormous expense attend¬ 
ing its execution, enough has been achieved to show the mechanical 
possibility of constructing an engine of this kind, and even one 
of far higher powers, of which Mr. Babbage has matured the 
conception, devised the notation, and executed the drawings — 
themselves an imperishable monument of the genius of the author. 

“ I happened on one occasion to be in company with this highly 
distinguished man of science, whose social qualities are as pleasing 
as his constructive talent is marvelous, when another eminent 
savant , Count Strzelecki, just returned from his Oriental and 
Australian tour, observed that he found among the Chinese a 
great desire to know something more of Mr. Babbage’s calculating 
machine, and especially whether, like their own swampan, it could 
be made to go into the pocket. Mr. Babbage good-humoredly 
observed that, thus far, he had been very much out of pocket 
with it. 

|ncrtasti) Commani) of $ustnnntaial ^otocr. 

“ Whatever advances may be made in astronomical science, 

• 









166 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

theoretical or applied, I am strongly inclined to think that they 
will be made in connection with an increased command of instru¬ 
mental power. The natural order in which the human mind 
proceeds in the acquisition of astronomical knowledge, is minute 
and accurate observation of the phenomena of the heavens, the 
skillful discussion and analysis of these observations, and sound 
philosophy in generalizing the results. 

“ In pursuing this course, however, a difficulty presented itself, 
which for ages proved insuperable, and which, to the same extent, 
has existed in no other science, viz.: that all the leading phe¬ 
nomena are in their appearance delusive. It is indeed true, that, 
in all sciences, superficial observation can only lead, except by 
chance, to superficial knowledge; but I know of no branch in 
which, to the same degree as in astronomy, the great leading 
phenomena are the reverse of true; while they yet appeal so 
strongly to the senses, that men who could foretell eclipses, and 
who discovered the precession of the equinoxes, still believed that 
the earth was at rest in the center of the universe, and that all 
the host of heaven performed a daily revolution about it as a 
center. 

“ It usually happens in scientific progress, that when a great 
fact is at length discovered, it approves itself at once to all com¬ 
petent judges. It furnishes a solution to so many problems, and 
harmonizes with so many other facts, that all the other data , as it 
were, crystallize at once about it. In modern times, we have 
often witnessed such an impatience, so to say, of great truths to 
be discovered, that it has frequently happened that they have been 
found out simultaneously by more than one individual; and a 
disputed question of priority is an event of very common occur¬ 
rence. Not so with the true theory of the heavens. So complete 
is the deception practiced on the senses, that it failed more than 
once to yield to the suggestion of the truth ; and it was only 
when the visual organs were armed with an almost preternatural 
instrumental power, that the great fact found admission to the 
human mind. 









THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 167 

®bc C-opermnw JSgsttm. 

“ It is supposed that in the very dawn of science, Pythagoras, 
or his disciples, explained the apparent motion of the heavenly 
bodies about the earth, by the diurnal revolution of the earth on 
its axis. But this theory, though bearing so deeply impressed 
upon it the great seal of truth, simplicity, was in such glaring 
contrast with the evidence of the senses, that it failed of acceptance 
in antiquity or the middle ages. It found no favor with minds 
like those of Aristotle, Archimedes, Hipparchus, Ptolemy, or 
any of the acute and learned Arabian or mediaeval astronomers. 
All their ingenuity and all their mathematical skill were exhausted 
in the development of a wonderfully complicated and ingenious, 
but erroneous theory. The great master truth, rejected for its 
simplicity, lay disregarded at their feet. 

“ At the second dawn of science, the great fact again beamed 
into the mind of Copernicus. Now, at least, in that glorious age 
which witnessed the invention of printing, the great mechanical 
engine of intellectual progress, and the discovery of America, we 
may expect that this long-hidden revelation, a second time pro¬ 
claimed, will command the assent of mankind. But the sensible 
phenomena were still too strong for the theory; the glorious 
delusion of the rising and the setting sun could not be overcome. 
Tycho de Brahe furnished liis observatory with instruments 
superior in number and quality to all that had been collected 
before ; but the great instrument of discovery, which, by augment¬ 
ing the optic power of the eye, enables it to penetrate beyond the 
apparent phenomena, and to discern the true constitution of the 
heavenly bodies, was wanting at Uranienburg. The observations 
of Tycho, as discussed by Kepler, conducted that most fervid, 
powerful, and sagacious mind, to the discovery of some of the 
most important laws of the celestial motions; but it was not till 
Galileo, at Florence, had pointed his telescope to the sky that 
the Copernican system could be said to be firmly establish ;d in 
the scientific world. 












168 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

frljt fjomt of Galileo. 

“ On this great name, my Friends, assembled as we are to 
dedicate a temple to instrumental Astronomy, we may well pause 
for a moment. 

“ There is much, in every way. in the city of Florence to excite 
the curiosity, to kindle the imagination, and to gratify the taste. 
Sheltered on the north by the vine-clad hills of Ficsoli, whose 
cyclopean walls carry back the antiquary to ages before the 
Roman, before the Etruscan power, the flowery city, Fiorenza, 
covers the sunny banks of the Arno with its stately palaces. 
Dark and frowning piles of medieval structure ; a majestic dome, 
the prototype of St. Peter’s ; basilicas which enshrine the ashes 
of some of the mightiest of the dead; the stone where Dante 
stood to gaze on the Campanile; the house of Michael Angelo, 
still occupied by a descendant of his lineage and name ; his ham¬ 
mer, his chisel, his dividers, his manuscript poems, all as if he had 
left them but yesterday ; airy bridges, which seem not so much to 
rest on the earth as to hover over the waters they span ; the 
loveliest creations of ancient art, rescued from the grave of ages 
again to enchant the world ; the breathing marbles of Michael 
Angelo, the glowing canvas of Raphael and Titian, museums 
filled with medals and coins of every age from Cyrus the younger, 
and gems and amulets and vases from the sepulchres of Egyptian 
Pharaohs coeval with Joseph, and Etruscan Lucumons that, swayed 
Italy before the Romans—libraries stored with the choicest texts 
of ancient literature — gardens of rose, and orange, and pomegran¬ 
ate, and myrtle — the very air you breathe languid with music 
and perfume — such is Florence. But among all its fascinations, 
addressed to the sense, the memory, and the heart, there was none 
to which I more frequently gave a meditative hour during a year’s 
residence, than to the spot where Galileo Galilei sleeps beneath 
the marble floor of Santa Croce ; no building on which 1 gazed 
with greater reverence, than I did upon the modest mansion at 









THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 169 

Arcetri, villa at once and prison, in which that venerable sage, by 
command of the Inquisition, passed the sad closing years of his 
life. The beloved daughter on whom lie had depended to smooth 
his passage to the grave, laid there before him ; the eyes with 
which lie had discovered worlds before unknown, quenched in 
blindness : 

Ahime! quegli ocelli si son fatti oscuri, 

Che vider piu di tutti i tempi antichi, 

E luce fur dci secoli futuri: 

That was the house, ‘ where/ says Milton, another of those of 
whom the world was not worthy, ‘ I found and visited the famous 
Galileo, grown old — a prisoner to the Inquisition, for thinking 
on astronomy otherwise than as the Dominican and Franciscan 
licensers thought.’ Great Heavens! what a tribunal, what a 
culprit, what a crime! Let us thank God, my friends, that we 
live in the nineteenth century. Of all the wonders of ancient and 
modern art, statues and paintings, and jewels and manuscripts — 
the admiration and the delight of ages — there was nothing which 
1 beheld with more affectionate awe than that poor, rough tube, a 
few feet in length, — the work of his own hands — that very 
‘ optic glass/ through which the ‘ Tuscan Artist’ viewed the moon, 

“At evening, from the top of Fesole, 

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 

Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe : ” 

that poor little spy-glass, for it is scarcely more, through which 
the human eye first distinctly beheld the surface of the moon — 
first discovered the phases of Venus, the satellites of Jupiter, and 
the seeming handles of Saturn — first penetrated the dusky depths 
of the heavens — first pierced the clouds of visual error, which, 
from the creation of the world, involved the system of the Uni¬ 
verse. 

“ There are occasions in life in which a great mind lives years 
of rapt enjoyment in a moment. I can fancy the emotions of Gali- 








170 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

leo, when, first raising the newly-constructed telescope to the 
heavens, he saw fulfilled the grand prophecy of Copernicus, and 
beheld the planet Yenus crescent like the moon. It was such 
another moment as that when the immortal printers of Mentz and 
Strasburg received the first copy of the Bible into their hands, 
the work of their divine art; like that when Columbus, through 
the gray dawn of the 12th of October, 1492— Copernicus, at the 
age of eighteen, was then a student at Cracow—beheld the shores 
of San Salvador ; like that when the law of gravitation first 
revealed itself to the intellect of Newton ; like that when Frank¬ 
lin saw by the stiffening fibers of the hempen cord of his kite, 
that he held the lightning in his grasp ; like that when Leverrier 
received back from Berlin the tidings that the predicted planet 
was found. 

Yes, noble Galileo, tliou art right. E pur si muove . 1 It 
does move.’ Bigots may make thee recant it ; but it moves, 
nevertheless. Yes, the earth moves, and the planets move, and 
the mighty waters move, and the great sweeping tides of air 
move, and the empires of men move, and the world of thought 
moves, ever onward and upward to higher facts and bolder theo¬ 
ries. The Inquisition may seal thy lips, but they can no more 
stop the progress of the great truth propounded by Copernicus, 
and demonstrated by thee, than they can stop the revolving earth. 

“ Close now, venerable sage, that sightless, tearful eye ; it has 
seen what man never before saw — it has seen enough. Hang up 
that poor little spy-glass — it has done its work. Not Herschel 
nor Rosse have, comparatively, done more. Franciscans and 
Dominicans deride thy discoveries now ; but the time will come 
when, from two hundred observatories in Europe and America, 
the glorious artillery of science shall nightly assault the skies, 
but they shall gain no conquests in those glittering fields before 
which thine shall be forgotten. Rest in peace, great Columbus 
of the heavens — like him scorned, persecuted, broken-hearted ! — 
in other ages, in distant hemispheres, when the votaries of science, 
with solemn acts of consecration, shall dedicate their stately edi- 









THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 171 

lices to the cause of knowledge and truth, thy name shall be 
mentioned with honor. 

$tfco |kriobs in Astronomical Science. 

“ It is not my intention, in dwelling with such emphasis upon 
the invention ol the telescope, to ascribe undue importance, in 
promoting the advancement of science, to the increase of instru¬ 
mental power. Too much, indeed, cannot be said of the service 
rendered by its first application in confirming and bringing into 
general repute the Copernican system ; but for a considerable 
time, little more was effected by the wondrous instrument than 
the gratification of curiosity and taste, by the inspection of the 
planetary phases, and the addition of the rings and satellites of 
Saturn to the solar family. Newton, prematurely despairing of 
any further improvement in the refracting telescope, applied the 
principle of reflection ; and the nicer observations now made, no 
doubt, hastened the maturity of his great discovery of the law of 
gravitation ; but that discovery was the work of his transcendent 
genius and consummate skill. 

“With Bradley, in 1741, a new period commenced in instru¬ 
mental astronomy, not so much of discovery as of measurement. 

The superior accuracy and minuteness with which the motions 
and distances of the heavenly bodies were now observed, resulted 
in the accumulation of a mass of new materials, both for tabular 
comparison and theoretical speculation. These materials formed 
the enlarged basis of astronomical science between Newton and 

Sir William Herschel. His gigantic reflectors introduced the 
astronomer to regions of space before unvisited — extending 
beyond all previous conception the range of the observed phen¬ 
omena, and with it proportionally enlarged the range of con¬ 
structive theory. The discovery of a new primary planet and its 
attendant satellites was but the first step of his progress into the 
labyrinth of the heavens. Contemporaneously with his observa¬ 
tions, the French astronomers, and especially La Place, with a 












172 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

geometrical skill scarcely, if at all, inferior to that of its great 
author, resumed the whole system of Newton, and brought every 
phenomenon observed since his time within his laws. Difficulties 
of fact, with which he struggled in vain, gave way to more accu¬ 
rate observations ; and problems that defied the power ot his 
analysis, yielded to the modern improvements of the calculus. 

fjcrstbcl’s $tebttlar cl beoru. 

“But there is no Ultima Thule, in the progress of science. 
With the recent augmentations of telescopic power, the details of 
the nebular theory, proposed by Sir W. Herschel with such 
courage and ingenuity, have been drawn in question. Many — 
most — of those milky patches in which he beheld what he 
regarded as cosmical matter, as yet in an unformed state — the 
rudimental material of worlds not yet condensed — have been 
resolved into stars, as bright and distinct as any in the firmament. 
I well recall the glow of satisfaction with which, on the 22d of 
September, 1847, being then connected with the University at 
Cambridge, I received a letter from the venerable director of 
the Observatory there, beginning with these memorable words : 
‘You will rejoice with me that the great nebula in Orion has 
yielded to the powers of our incomparable telescope! * * * 

It should be borne in mind that this nebula, and that of Andromeda, 
which lias been also resolved at Cambridge, are the last strong¬ 
holds of the nebular theory.’ 

. “ But if some of the adventurous speculations built by Sir Wil¬ 
liam Herschel on the bewildering revelations of his telescope 
have been since questioned, the vast progress which has been 
made in sidereal astronomy, to which, as I understand, the Dudley 
Observatory will be particularly devoted, the discovery of the 
parallax of the fixed stars, the investigation of the interior rela¬ 
tions of binary and triple systems of stars, the theories for the 
explanation of the extraordinary, not to say fantastic, shapes 
discerned in some of the nebulous systems — whirls and spirals 










TIIE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 173 

radiating through spaces as vast as the orbit of Neptune ; the 
glimpses at systems beyond that to which our sun belongs ; these 
are all splendid results, which may fairly be attributed to the 
school of Herschel, and will for ever insure no secondary place 
to that name in the annals of science. 

Ilclatiousbip of the liberal girls. 

“ In the remarks which I have hitherto made, I have had mainly 
in view the direct connection of astronomical science with the 
uses of life and the service of man. But a generous philosophy 
contemplates the subject in higher relations. It is a remark as 
old, at least, as Plato, and is repeated from him more than once 
by Cicero, that all the liberal arts have a common bond and 
relationship. The different sciences contemplate as their imme¬ 
diate object the different departments of animate and inanimate 
nature ; but this great system itself is but one, and its parts arc so 
interwoven with each other, that the most extraordinary relations 
and unexpected analogies are constantly presenting themselves ; 
and arts and sciences seemingly the least connected, render to 
each other the most effective assistance. 

“ The history of electricity, galvanism, and magnetism, furnishes 
the most striking illustration of this remark. Commencing with 
the meteorological phenomena of our own atmosphere, and term¬ 
inating with the observation of the remotest heavens, it may well 
be adduced, on an occasion like the present. Franklin demon¬ 
strated the identity of lightning and the electric fluid. This 
discovery gave a great impulse to electrical research, with little 
else in view but the means of protection from the thunder-cloud. 
A purely accidental circumstance led the physician Galvani, at 
Bologna, to trace the mysterious element, under conditions entirely 
novel, both of development and application. In this new form it 
became, in the hands of Davy, the instrument of the most extraor¬ 
dinary chemical operations ; and earths and alkalies, touched by 
the creative wire, started up into metals that float on water and 








174 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

kindle in the air. At a later period, the closest affinities are 
observed between electricity and magnetism, on the one hand; 
while, on the other, the relations of polarity are detected between 
acids and alkalies. Plating and gilding henceforth become electri¬ 
cal processes. In the last applications of the same subtle medium, 
it has become the messenger of intelligence across the land and 
beneath the sea; and is now employed by the astronomer to 
ascertain the difference of longitudes, to transfer the beats of the 
clock from one station to another, and to record the moment of 
his observations with automatic accuracy. How large a share 
has been borne by America in these magnificent discoveries and 
applications, among the most brilliant achievements of modern 
science, will sufficiently appear from the repetition of the names 
of Franklin, Henry, Morse, Walker, Mitchell, Lock, and 
Bond. 

Iforsatilitii of (©mas. 

so 

“ It has sometimes happened, whether from the harmonious 
relations to each other of every department of science, or from 
rare felicity of individual genius, that the most extraordinary 
intellectual versatility has been manifested by the same person. 
Although Newton’s transcendent talent did not blaze out in 
childhood, yet as a boy he discovered great aptitude for mechanical 
contrivance. His water-clock, self-moving vehicle, and mill, were 
the wonder of the village; the latter propelled by a living mouse. 
Sir David Brewster represents the accounts as differing, whether 
the mouse was made to advance ‘ by a string attached to its tail,’ 
or by ‘ its unavailing attempts to reach a portion of corn placed 
above the wheel.’ It seems more reasonable to conclude that the 
youthful discoverer of the law of gravitation intended, by the 
combination of these opposite attractions, to produce a balanced 
movement. It is consoling to the average mediocrity of the race, 
to perceive in these sportive essays that the mind of Newton 
passed through the stage of boyhood. But emerging from boyhood, 
what a bound it made, as from earth to heaven! Hardly com- 











THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 175 

mencing bachelor of arts, at the age of twenty-four, he untwisted the 
golden and silver threads of the solar spectrum ; simultaneously 
or soon after, conceived the method of fluxions; and arrived at 
the elemental idea of universal gravity before he had passed to 
his master’s degree. Master of Arts, indeed! That degree, if no 
other, was well bestowed. Universities are unjustly accused of 
fixing science in stereotype. That diploma is enough of itself 
to redeem the honors of academical parchment from centuries of 
learned dullness and scholastic dogmatism. 

“ But the great object of all knowledge is to enlarge and purify 
the soul, to fill the mind with noble contemplations, to furnish a 
refined pleasure, and to lead our feeble reason from the works of 
nature up to its great Author and Sustainer. Considering this 
as the ultimate end of science, no branch of it can surely claim 
precedence of Astronomy. No other science furnishes such a 
palpable embodiment of the abstractions which lie at the founda¬ 
tion of our intellectual system—the great ideas of time, and space, 
and extension, and magnitude, and number, and motion, and 
power. How grand the conception of the ages on ages required 
for several of the secular equations of the solar system; of dis¬ 
tances from which the light of a fixed star would not reach us in 
twenty millions of years ; of magnitudes compared wjth which the 
earth is but a foot-ball; of starry hosts — suns like our own — 
numberless as the sands on the shore; of worlds and systems 
shooting through the infinite spaces, with a velocity compared 
with which the cannon-ball is a way-worn, heavy-paced traveler! 

^petisde of % fhabras. 

“ Much, however, as we are indebted to our observatories for 
elevating our conceptions of the heavenly bodies, they present, 
even to the unaided sight, scenes of glory which words are too 
feeble to describe. I had occasion, a few weeks since, to take 
the early train from Providence to Boston ; and for this purpose 
rose at two o’clock in the morning. Every thing around was 

• 










NIGHT. 


wrapped in darkness and hushed in silence, broken only by what 
seemed at that hour the unearthly clank and rush of the train. 
It was a mild, serene midsummer’s night; the sky was without a 
cloud, the winds were whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, 
had just risen, and the stars shone with a spectral luster but little 
affected by her presence; Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald 
of the day ; the Pleiades, just above the horizon, shed their sweet 
influence in the cast; Lyra sparkled near the zenith; Andromeda 
veiled her newly discovered glories from the naked eye in the 
south; the steady Pointers, far beneath the Pole, looked meekly 
up from the depths of the north to their sovereign. 

























“ Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As 
we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more per¬ 
ceptible ; the intense blue of the sky began to soften; the smaller 
stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister-beams of 
the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations 
of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the won¬ 
drous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels, hidden from 
mortal eyes, shifted the scenery of the heavens; the glories of 
night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The blue sky now 
turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy 
eyes; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon 
12 


MORNING. 


the uses of astronomy. 





























178 THE USES OF ASTRO MO MY. 

blushed along the sky ; the whole celestial concave was filled 
with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring- 
down from above in one great ocean of radiance; till at length, 
as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from 
above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear drops of flower and 
leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds, the everlasting 
gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, 
arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his course. 

“ I do not wonder at the superstition of the ancient Magians, 
who, in the morning of the world, went up to the hill-tops of 
Central Asia, and, ignorant of the true God, adored the most 
glorious work of his hand. But I am filled with amazement when 
I am told, that in this enlightened age, and in the heart of the 
Christian world, there are persons who can witness this daily 
manifestation of the power and wisdom of the Creator, and yet 
say in their hearts, ‘ There is no God.’ 

iflnbistohcrctJ gobies. 

“ Numerous as are the heavenly bodies visible to the naked eye, 
and glorious as are their manifestations, it is probable that in our 
own system there are great numbers as yet undiscovered. Just 
two hundred years ago this year, Huyghens announced the dis¬ 
covery of one satellite of Saturn, and expressed the opinion that 
the six planets and six satellites then known, and making up the 
perfect number of twelve , composed the whole of our planetary 
system. In 1729, an astronomical writer expressed the opinion 
that there might be other bodies in our system, but that the limit 
of telescopic power had been reached, and no further discoveries 
were likely to be made. The orbit of one comet only had been 
definitively calculated. Since that time, the power of the telescope 
has been indefinitely increased: two primary planets of the first 
class, ten satellites, and forty-three small planets revolving between 
Mars and Jupiter, have been discovered; the orbits of six or seven 
hundred comets, some of brief period, have been ascertained; 
and it has been computed that hundreds of thousands of these 












THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 179 

mysterious bodies wander through our system. There is no reason 
to think that all the primary planets which revolve about the sun, 
have been discovered. An indefinite increase in the number of 
asteroids, may be anticipated ; while outside of Neptune, between 
our sun and the nearest fixed star, supposing the attraction of the 
sun to prevail through half the distance, there is room for ten 
more primary planets, succeeding each other at distances increas¬ 
ing in a geometrical ratio. The first of these will, unquestionably, 
be discovered as soon as the perturbations of Neptune shall have 
been accurately observed; and with maps of the heavens, on 
which the smallest telescopic stars are laid down, it may be 
discovered much sooner. 

lihtstnxss of duration. 

0 

“ But it is when we turn our observation and our thoughts from 
our own system, to the systems which lie beyond it in the heavenly 
spaces, that we approach a more adequate conception of the 
vastness of creation. All analogy teaches us that the sun which 
gives light to us, is but one of those countless stellar fires which 
deck the firmament; and that every glittering star in that shining 
host, is the center of a system as vast and as full of subordinate 
luminaries as our own. Of these suns — centers of planetary 
systems—thousands are visible to the naked eye, millions are 
discovered by the telescope. Sir John IIerschel, in the account 
of his operations at the Cape of Good Hope, calculates that 
about five and a half millions of stars are visible enough to be 
distinctly counted in a twenty-foot reflector, in both hemispheres. 

He adds, ‘ that the actual number is much greater, there can be 
little doubt.’ His illustrious father estimated on one occasion, 
that 125,000 stars passed through the field of his forty-foot reflector 
in a quarter of an hour. This would give 12,000,000 for the 
entire circuit of the heavens in a single telescopic zone; and this 
estimate was made under the assumption that the nebula) were 
masses of luminous matter not yet condensed into suns. 

“ These stupendous calculations, however, form but the first 












I 


180 THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

column of the inventory of the universe. Faint white specks are 
visible, even to the naked eye of a practiced observer, in different 
parts of the heavens. Under high magnifying powers, several 
thousands of such spots are visible—no longer, however, faint 
white specks, but many of them resolved by powerful telescopes 
into vast aggregations of stars, each of which may with propriety 
be compared with the milky way. Many of these nebula:, how¬ 
ever, resisted the power of Sir William Herschel’s great 
reflector, and were, accordingly, still regarded by him as masses 
of unformed matter, not yet condensed into suns. This, till a few 
years since, was perhaps the prevailing opinion; and the nebular 
theory filled a large space in modern astronomical science. But 
with the increase of instrumental power, especially under the 
mighty grasp of Lord Rosse’s gigantic reflector, and the great 
refractors at Pulkova and Cambridge, the most irresolvable of 
these nebulm have given way; and the better opinion now is, 
that every one of them is a galaxy, like our own milky way, 
composed of millions of suns. In other words, we arc brought to 
the bewildering conclusion that thousands of these misty specks, 
the greater part of them too faint to be seen with the naked eye, 
are, not each a universe like our solar system, but each a ‘ swarm ’ 
of universes of unappreciable magnitude. The mind sinks over¬ 
powered by the contemplation. We repeat the words, but they 
no longer convey distinct ideas to the understanding. 

(£onxcptiottS of % ifimtarst. 

“ But these conclusions, however vast their comprehension, carry 
us but another step forward in the realms of sidereal astronomy. 
A proper motion in space, of our sun, and of the fixed stars, as we 
call them, has long been believed to exist. Their vast distances 
only prevent its being more apparent. The great improvement 
of instruments of measurement, within the last generation, has not 
only established the existence of this motion, but has pointed to 
the region in the starry vault around which our whole solar and 









THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 


181 


stellar system, with its myriad of attendant planetary worlds 
appears to be performing a mighty revolution. If, then, we 
assume that outside of the system to which we belong, and in which 
our sun is but a star like Aldebaran or Sirius, the different nebulae 
of which we have spoken — thousands of which spot the heavens 
— constitute a distinct family of universes, we must, following the 
guide of analogy, attribute to each of them also, beyond all the 
revolutions of their individual attendant planetary systems, a 
great revolution, comprehending the whole; while the same 
course of analogical reasoning would lead us still further onward, 
and in the last analysis, require us to assume a transcendental 
connection between all these mighty systems—a universe of 
universes, circling round in the infinity of space, and preserving 
its equilibrium by the same laws of mutual attraction which bind 
the lower worlds together. 

“ It may be thought that conceptions like these are calculated 
rather to depress than to elevate us in the scale of being; that, 
banished as he is by these contemplations to a corner of creation, 
and there reduced to an atom, man sinks to nothingness in this 
infinity of worlds. But a second thought corrects the impression. 
These vast contemplations arc well calculated to inspire awe, but 
not abasement. Mind and matter are incommensurable. An 
immortal soul, even while clothed in ‘ this muddy vesture of decay/ 
is, in the eye of God and reason, a purer essence than the brightest 
sun that lights the depths of heaven. The organized human eye, 
instinct with life and soul, which, gazing through the telescope, 
travels up to the cloudy speck in the handle of Orion’s sword, and 
bids it blaze forth into a galaxy as vast as ours, stands higher in 
the order of being than all that host of luminaries. The intellect 
of Newton, which discovered the law that holds the revolving 
worlds together, is a nobler work of God than a universe of 
universes of unthinking matter. 

“ If, still treading the loftiest paths of analogy, we adopt the 
supposition—to me, I own, the grateful supposition — that the 
countless planetary worlds which attend these countless suns, are 




















182 ' TIIE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 

the abodes of rational beings like man, instead of bringing back 
from this exalted conception a feeling of insignificance, as if the 
individuals of our race were, but poor atoms in the infinity of 
being, 1 regard it, on the contrary, as a glory of our human 
nature, that it belongs to a family which no man can number of 
rational natures like itself. In the order of being they may stand 
beneath us, or they may stand above us ; he may well be content 
with his place, who is made ‘ a little lower than the angels.’ 

(Contemplation: of tbe fjwfrtns. 

“ Finally, my friends, I believe there is no contemplation better 
adapted to awaken devout ideas than that of the heavenly bodies— 
no branch of natural science which bears clearer testimony to the 
power and wisdom of God than that to which you this day con¬ 
secrate a temple. The heart of the ancient world, with all the 
prevailing ignorance of the true nature and motions of the heav¬ 
enly orbs, was religiously impressed by their survey. There is a 
passage in one of these admirable philosophical treatises of Cicero 
composed in the decline of life, as a solace under domestic bereave¬ 
ment and patriotic concern at the impending convulsions of the 
state, in which, quoting from some lost work of Aristotle, lie 
treats the topic in a manner which almost puts to shame the 
teachings of Christian wisdom. 

“ ‘Nobly does Aristotle observe, that if there were beings who 
had always lived under ground, in convenient, nay, in magnificent 
dwellings, adorned with statues and pictures, and every thing 
which belongs to prosperous life, but who had never come above 
ground ; who had heard, however, by fame and report, of the 
being and power of the gods ; if, at a certain time, the portals of 
the earth being thrown open, they had been able to emerge from 
those hidden abodes to the regions inhabited by us ; when sud¬ 
denly they had seen the earth, the seas, and the sky ; had perceived 
the vastness of the clouds and the force of the winds ; had contem¬ 
plated the sun, his magnitude and his beauty, and still more his 










THE USES OF ASTRONOMY. 183 

effectual power, that it is he who makes the day, by the diffusion 
of his light through the whole sky ; and, when night had dark¬ 
ened the earth, should then behold the whole heavens studded 
and adorned with stars, and the various lights of the waxing and 
waning moon, the risings and the settings of all these heavenly 
bodies, and the courses lixed and immutable in all eternity ; when, 

I say, they should see these things, truly they would believe that 
there were gods, and these so great things are their works.’ 

“ There is much .by day to engage the attention of the Observ- 
tory ; the sun, his apparent motions, his dimensions, the spots on 
his disc—to us the faint indications of movements of unimasrined 
grandeur in his luminous atmosphere—a solar eclipse, a transit of 
the inferior planets, the mysteries of the spectrum ; all phenomena 
of vast importance and interest. But night is the astronomer’s 
accepted time ; he goes to his delightful labors when the busv 
world goes to its rest. A dark pall spreads over the resorts of 
active life ; terrestial objects, hill and valley, and rock and stream, 
and the abodes of men disappear ; but the curtain is drawn up 
which concealed the heavenly hosts. There they shine and there 
they move, as they moved and shone to the eyes of Newton and 
Galileo, of Kepler and Copernicus, of Ptolemy and Hippar¬ 
chus ; yea, as they moved and shone when the morning stars sang 
together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy ! All has 
changed on earth ; but the glorious heavens remain unchanged. 

The plow passes over the site of mighty cities, the homes of 
powerful nations are desolate, the languages they spoke arc for¬ 
gotten ; but the stars that shone for them are shining for us ; the 
same eclipses run their steady cycle ; the same equinoxes call out 
the flowers of spring, and send the husbandman to the harvest; 
the sun pauses at either tropic as he did when his course began; 
and sun and moon, and planet and satellite, and star, and constel¬ 
lation, and galaxy, still bear witness to the power, the wisdom, 
and the love, which placed them in the heavens and uphold them 
there! ” 











MEMOIRS OF THE BAT FAMILY. 


« HOUGH the bats are, upon the whole, useful, rather than 
hurtful to man, they are creatures to which poetry and 
superstition have in all ages had recourse, to deepen the 
feelings of loathing and horror. The bats are things of the 
doubtful light — the dim twilight — which, in ages of ignorance, 
converts white stones into ghosts, and bushes into spectres. They 
dwell in the ruined wall or riven earth, and they also often 
find their way into the sepulchres and catacombs of the ancients. 
They were thus dwellers with desolation and death ; and it was 
but stretching the imagination a little further, to suppose that 
they were in league with these loathed and dreaded powers. 

The rapacity of the bats in their feeding during the twilight 

[ 184 ] 




















MEMOIRS OF THE BAT FAMILY. 


185 


gloom, and the miscellaneous nature of their food, gave still further 
color to the supposition. Hovering about the temples, they ate 
greedily the blood and other remains of the sacrifices ; when 
famine or pestilence, which were then of frequent occurrence, 
though fortunately known to us chiefly by name, strewed the 
earth with the bodies of the dead, and when night closed upon 
the horrors of the battle-field, the bats came to the nocturnal 
feast. As in all cases they came fluttering, and apparently 
formless, with wing, most unlike any organ bearing the same 
name which is spread to the light of day or the sun of heaven, 
they perfected their claim of poetical alliance with the infernal 
regions, and the powers which held dominion there. As the 
peacock was the bird sacred to Juno, the queen of heaven, so the 
bat was the creature sacred, or accursed, if the word is better 
liked, to Proserpine, the empress of hell. 

The use of bats for these purposes, is as old as Homer, who 

very skillfully manages them in heightening the graphic effect of the 

splendid passage in which he describes the shrieks and wailings 

of the ghosts in the regions of woe; and after Homer, all poets 

and painters who have ventured upon similar delineations, have 

made use of the bats for the purposes of effect. Even to this day, 

painters must borrow the wings of bats for their devils, in the 

% 

same way that they borrow the wings of doves for their angels; 
and one has only to throw a deep Rembrandt shade over a piece 
of canvas, and shew a bat’s wing partly displayed from a cave, in 
order to give an infernal air to it, and make it, with very little 
painting, a good poetical representation of the gates of hell. It 
is easy to see how a race which is linked with such associations, 
should have had but a scanty measure of justice meted out to it 
by the half-superstitious naturalists of the Middle Ages; and a 
remnant of the same superstition is, no doubt, the cause of much 
of the horror which is still associated with some of the larger 
species of warm countries. 

When we come to study the family of bats in the light of 
natural history, not only does the traditional horror to which we 


















1 186 


MEMOIRS OF THE BAT FAMILY. 


have alluded, vanish, but in their structure and habits we find 
much that is exceedingly curious. Their organs of sense are 
variously developed. The ears are in general large, and in some 
of the species they have a duplicature, or second concha, as if there 
were one ear within another. It is hence presumed that the sense 
of hearing is acute j and it may be that those which have the dupli¬ 
cature to the ears, have thus the means of closing up the auditory 
passage, so that they may not be disturbed in their repose during 
the day. The nostrils and mouth are also sometimes surrounded 
by produced membranes, the use of which is not very well known. 
Perhaps they aid the sense of smelling, which is generally acute 
in nocturnal feeders; perhaps they assist in the capture of the 
insect prey, and perhaps they are in some measure organs of 
touch. 

The eyes are very small, and deeply imbedded, something like 
the eyes of moles, and though they must have the power of 
vision, it does not appear that they are essential to the animal in 
finding its way, even when that is intricate. The well-known 
experiments of Spallanzani, which were verified by others, 
proved that when blindfolded, or even blinded, bats can find 
their way between obstacles of which they could have had no 
previous knowledge ; and indeed, though we, reasoning from 
ourselves as the example, are very apt to suppose that what we 
call the caution of animals is a matter of experience, yet, prejudice 
and false analogy apart, experience appears to have little or 
nothing to do in the matter. Spallanzani suspended willow 
rods in the room in which he turned the blind bats loose to flv ; 
but though he frequently shifted these so as to make the passage 
between them as varied and as intricate as possible, the bats 
never struck against one of them, though they kept flying about 
in all directions! 

A question has hence been raised, as to the means by which 
bats contrive to avoid obstacles; and the same question may be 
extended to very many other animals. A horse, in the dark, 
pauses when he comes to a closed gate, though he never was on 














MEMOIRS OF TIIE BAT FAMILY. 187 

the roacl before ; nocturnal beasts do not more frequently fall into 
pits and over precipices, than beasts which are abroad during the 
day, and have their eyes to guide them, and nocturnal birds do 
not fly against trees, any more than day-light birds. People, too, 
will keep a well-known path, though the night be pitch dark. 

In the last case, we are in the habit of saying that “ the feet 
know the road,” and the saying is probably not very wide of the 
truth. “ Feet” or “ head,” we know that which wc have learned. 
Animals need no learning in the performance of their natural 
functions; they know all ways, instinctively, which their habits 
lead them to; the nocturnal ones have no more difficulty in the 
dark, than the diurnal ones have in the brightest sunshine. 

This, it will naturally bo said, is not an answer to the question ; 
but though it would be easy enough to write more, it is, in truth, 
all that can philosophically be given. That the animals feel a 
different resistance in the air, in time to avoid the obstacle, the 
pit, or the precipice, is evident; but how they feel it, or even 
what name wc are to give it as a sense, is another matter. Of 
sensation we have no knowledge beyond the experience of our 
own senses ; what is said respecting them, even by those who are 
accounted “ authorities” in matters of physiology, is vague enough. 

The most rational thcoiy on the subject is, that as the sentient 
animal is one ; all the senses are essentially one also, only modified 
by different organs; and if modified by different organs in the 
same body, much more may they be modified by bodies which arc 
specifically different, so that the sense which has apparently a 
similar organ, and to which, on that account, we give the same 
name, may be very different in two different animals. We arc 
accustomed to say that a blood-hound which follows on the “ slot," 
has a very exquisite sense of smell; but the hound cares nothing 
for roses or mignonnette, or all the perfumes in the world; and 
the eye of the eagle, much as it has been descanted on in respect 
to its powers of vision, has no perception of beauty cither in forms 
or colors. The flying membranes of bats, thin as they arc, contain 
a beautifully reticulated plexus, or net-work of nerves, and the 











188 MEMOIRS OF THE BAT FAMILY. 

texture of these, externally, is of that description with which we 
usually associate a very delicate sense of touch. But still we 
cannot say that such a surface is absolutely necessary; for it 
appears that the whiskers of cats, the delicate fringes in which 
the wing feathers of owls terminate, and many other surfaces and 
substances in which there do not immediately appear to be any 
nerves, give indications equally delicate and certain. A blow on 
the horn of an ox appears to pain the animal even more than a 
similar blow on the hide; and treading on the toe is none the 
less painful for its being fortified with the mail of a corn. 

The breeding of bats takes place at the very hottest time of the 
year ; the young, which are usually two in number, are naked and 
helpless at their birth, capable only of clinging to the teats of 
their mother, which, however, they do with the greatest firmness 
and pertinacity. This habit in them is necessary, for the mother 
does not lie down, or even stand on the ground, when she suckles 
her young, as is the case with most of the mammalia. She hangs 
suspended by the nails of her thumbs, or more generally by those 
of her hind feet, to the branch of a tree, or some cranny or 
irregularity in a ruin or a cavern. There is no nest in which she 
can leave the young ones when she goes out to feed, and thus 
she must bear them about, attached to her body, till they are 
capable of flight. The female has no marsupium, but this habit 
resembles somewhat that of the marsupial animals. The young 
are very immature when produced, and their nest, and place of 
safety and repose, is the body of their mother. 

Some of the species occasionally fly during the day, but that prac¬ 
tice is by no means common, and is confined to some of the foreign 
species which are in part vegetable feeders. In temperate cli¬ 
mates they conceal themselves during the day, even in the season 
of their greatest activity. Caverns, holes of trees and walls, and 
ruined buildings, are their retreats, and from these they issue 
forth as dusk begins to set in, flutter about in their laborious 
flight, and capture such insects as are then on the wing — gnats, 
musquitoes, moths and beetles — their wide gape, with its formi- 











MEMOIRS OF THE BAT FAMILY. 189 

dable teeth, being an excellent trap for the capture of such 
prey. ^ 

The service which they render to vegetation by the destruction 
of insects, which in the larva state prey upon it, is very consider- 
ble, even in temperate climates ; some of the hot countries in which 
these swarm by myriads, could not, but for them, be inhabited. In 
humid places on the margins of tropical forests, musquitoes are 
troublesome enough as it is, but if the bats did not reduce their 
numbers they would bo utterly unbearable. Those species, too, 
which frequent the towns and settlements, are useful in other 
respects. Most of the race are miscellaneous in their feeding, 
and not very delicate in their taste. They devour, indiscrimin¬ 
ately, all animal substances, whether raw or dressed, and whether 
in a fresh or putrid state, thus removing a great deal of noxious 
and dangerous matter. 

So far, our account having reference to the bats with which we 
are acquainted in temperate countries, we have spoken of them as 
a gentle and useful race ; but truth compels us to declare, that 
there are, in far-olf tropical countries, larger and more formidable 
creatures of this family. In the Island of Java, there is a species 
known by the name of Rousette, of which a portrait is given at 
the head of this article. They are very abundant, hanging in 
black rows or groups during the day, with their heads down and 
wings folded, on the trees. At evening, they take to their wings, 
and, guided by unerring instinct, resort to the gardens and plan¬ 
tations, where they seek the delicate fruits, such as melons, 
oranges, and even cocoa-nuts. In this way, they do immense 
damage. So troublesome are they, that the inhabitants, in some 
places, are obliged to protect their fruit by loose nets or baskets 
of split bamboo. 

In South America, there is a species of bat, which has acquired 
the horrid name of Vampire. It lives on the blood of animals, 
and usually sucks while its victim is asleep. It is said to fan the 
unconscious sufferer with its wings, so as to lull him into more 
profound repose, by a soothing coolness. The ears of horses and 









190 MEMOIRS OF THE BAT FAMILY. 

cattle, the combs and wattles of fowls, and the toes of men, are 
said to be its favorite points of attack. Nevertheless, neither the 
body of this, nor that of the rousette bats, exceed six inches in 
length, though their wings stretch out to two feet; therefore, all 
the legends of their dangerous and destructive character are to lie 
regarded as idle exaggerations. 

It is probable that these larger bats, however, have given rise 
to some of the superstitions which appear in classical literature. 
The harpies, which were flying creatures, with the faces of 

■ 

women and the bodies, wings and claws of birds, and at the same 
time emitting a noisome stench and polluting whatever they 
touched, might very easily have been framed by popular imagin¬ 
ation out of the more formidable species, which, no doubt, once 
inhabited the southern portions of Europe, as well as the con¬ 
tiguous countries of Asia and Africa. The still more terrible 
myth of a demon, which sucked the blood of persons during the 
night, and which acquired the name of Vampire, is very likely to 
have sprung from the stealthy performances of bats resembling 
those of South America. By a similar process, no doubt, the 
dragons, basilisks, wiverns, and griffins, which figure in the 
legends of the middle ages, were created from the crocodiles, ser¬ 
pents, and other animals, which the Crusaders saw, for the first 
time, in their visits to the East. In a rude age, the imagination 
needs little encouragement to convert objects so really curious 
and strange as those we have been describing, into hideous mon¬ 
sters, endowed with supernatural powers. It is the province of 
education and enlightened reason, to reduce these horrid creations 
of fancy to the comparatively simple and innocent dimensions of 
truth. 











THE PRINTING PRESS 


OF THE AGE OF 


STEAM AND ELECTRICITY 


N the 27th September, 1855, the “Publishers’ Association” 
of New York, held a “Fruit Festival,” at the Crystal 
Palace in that city, in compliment to the Authors and 
Booksellers assembled from various parts of the United States, 
Mr. William Appleton presiding. There Avere present many 
of the most distinguished literary men of the country, and the 
occasion was, in various aspects, one of the most gratifying that 
has ever occurred in this country. Many eloquent and instruc¬ 
tive addresses were made : among these was the following, by the 
Rev. E. H. Chapin : 

“ Sir : There are some things which overwhelm opposition, and 

disdain alliance. The man Avho tries to drown the thunder of 

[ 191 ] 






















192 


THE PRINTING PRESS. 


Niagara with his voice, appears not much more insignificant than 
the poet or orator who undertakes to illustrate and eulogize it. 
It is very much so, with ‘ the Printing Press of the Age of Steam 
and Electricity.’ As it far outruns the rivalry of human speech, 
and delivers its messages to millions in a day, so it is, in itself, 
much more eloquent than anything that can be said about it. At 
least, sir, as it stands before us, harnessed to those twin powers 
of Might and Swiftness, and, more like an intelligent being than 
a machine, with its slim fingers picks up and scatters into the 
world its burden of thought to go abroad ‘ noiseless as snow-flakes, 
but potent as thunder’—it is quite certain that the profoundest 
suggestions which it excites are inexpressible, and that what can 
be spoken is very obvious. 

“ And so, sir, as you have invited me to speak upon this theme, 
if I merely reiterate that which has been thought and spoken 
many times over, I must refer you for my apology to the theme 
itself. 

“ Mr. President, the printing press of the age of steam and 
electricity, stands before us in a three-fold aspect—as an indicator 
of mechanical and general progress ; as an actual power ; and as 
an agent of great and beneficent uses. A few words upon each 
of these ‘ very obvious points.’ 

“ I doubt whether we can select an illustration of the mechanical 
progress of the last four hundred years, that is so obvious and 
tangible as the printing press. For, in the first place, within that 
period there has been no other mechanical agent of such direct 
and momentous importance. We divide time into epochs and 
crises perhaps too much, forgetting that there is no period or 
event which is sudden and complete in itself, but that historical 
changes work in sublime unity and silence, like the elements 
which filter, among the ribs of the earth. But if ever, out of 
uninspired history, there was palpable sign and embodied symbol 
of crisis and change for -the world, it appeared in that creaking, 
clumsy machine of Faust and Guttenberg. 

“ 1 es, that was a queer, portentous creature, that rickety thing 














THE PRINTING PRESS. 193 

of wood and iron, that came stalking into the world among kings 
and priests, thrones and castles, and other feudal respectabilities. 
There was a revolutionist, there was a troublesome democrat, 
there was a voice for the groaning people, there was a prophet 
of free and beautiful thought, there was a working-preacher 
that should tear the chained Word of God from the pillars of 
monasteries, and scatter it all over the world, and kindle the 
light to read it by ! 

“ And if the printing press was thus important, both as an 
agent and a symbol of improvement, it is equally true that the 
greatest inventions and discoveries since that time have been 
allied with it, and in some way brought to serve its vast ends. 

“ Surely, the applications of steam-power are not more splendidly 
illustrated even in the rail-car and the steamship—great instru¬ 
ments of civilization as they are — than in the working of a 
hundred marvelous pieces of machinery, to publish and multiply 
those vehicles of intelligence out of which all genuine civilization 
flows. 

“Surely, the electric telegraph—and the man* is here to-night 
whose name is imperishably linked with it, and who, if he lives 
but a few years longer, will see its living nerve stretching around 
the globe, and feel the heart of China beating against his own — 
surely, the electric telegraph demonstrates its capacity in no way 
so wonderfully as in the capacity of a reporter for the daily paper ; 
bringing the last word from fusion conventions and confusion 
caucuses, telling us that Sebastopol is at length taken, revealing 
the midnight interior of senates, touching our sympathies with a 
glimpse of poor fever-smitten Norfolk, and daguerreotyping the 
passing life and interest of a world upon our breakfast table! 

“ I say, then, that the printing press, through all stages of its 
improvement, may be taken as the fitting symbol of the lnechanical 
progress of the last four hundred years. 

“ And now, in order that you may realize the marvel of that 
progress, I only ask you to go back in imagination to the work- 

* This was an allusion to Professor Morse, who was present. 

13 

« 










194 THE PRINTING PRESS. 

shop of Guttenberg, striking off that very copy of the Bible 
which is lodged scarcely more than a mile from this spot; or into 
the presence of Canton, holding up a damp sheet of the ‘ Histories 
of Troy/ or the ‘ Golden Legend / and then just take a walk 
through the vast manufactories of our Harpers and Appletons. 
Begin down cellar, with the best hand they have in the shop—the 
old fire-eater that tugs away there with forty or fifty horse power, 
and keeps everything moving and all hands busy; and then go 
on and go up, through Chinese walls of printing paper, and 
catacombs of type, and armies of well-employed men, and healthy, 
happy girls, each with an appointed task; and look at the iron 
arms lifting and folding ; the whizzing wheels, the enormous slabs 
of pressure, the delicate stamps — the countless agents that, with 
inconceivable quickness, work between the manuscript and the 
printer’s book, turning brains—where they do not themselves 
furnish the original material — into lead, and lead into print, and 
print into folded sheets, and sheets into volumes, and volumes 
into influences of diffused and illimitable power! 

“ Now, certainly, this is a vast sweep of mechanical improve¬ 
ment ; but you will observe that it is not mechanical improvement 
merely, for it is absurd to talk of ‘ mere mechanical improvement ’ 
as though it involved every thing else. It presupposes a prior 
improvement, a development and enlightenment of the common 
mind that is represented in these marvelous agents ; and it 
argues a coexistent improvement in the public intelligence which 
creates the demand for those productions. 

“ But, sir, the printing press of the age of steam and electricity, 
is likewise an actual and mighty power. Let its tendencies 
balance which way they may, for good or for evil, here it stands, 
and no man, with half a soul in him, would chain it if he could. 
I suppose there is no agent of our time that has so much power 
as the printing press, considering all the influences that are 
involved with it. 

“ I do not say that it is the most excellent power ; that it is 
better in quality or mightier in proportion to its area than some 











THE PRINTING PRESS. 195 

others. I think that the human voice has a greater power within 
the sphere of its influence, and that nothing can equal the living 
utterance of truth, the effect of a magnetic personality. Nor do 
I speak of it as especially an independent power. Perhaps it is 
full as much the organ as the guide of public opinion — a barom¬ 
eter compressed by the air, and not always a reflector of the pure 
daylight ; so that we can tell, from this or that newspaper, how 
low down or in what social stratum it hangs, and learn by a book, 
as well as a bottle, what currents are running. 

“ But even as the concentrated force of public opinion or the 
expression of live thought, it is an incalculable power. From its 
iron lips, thousands take truth or error. It lines the humblest 
cottages with its cheap libraries. Men will as soon go without 
their breakfast as without the daily paper ; and so wide is its 
scope and so rapid its movements, that people half way up to 
Albany will read a report of this meeting to-morrow morning, 
before we are half out of bed. And if it engenders evil, it is the 
only vehicle through which the remedy can be poured into the 
world. And then, sir, just consider its power as a money interest. 
We are hardly aware, many of us, of the amount of capital which 
is employed ; of the amount of wealth imbedded in stereotype 
and electrotype plates alone, crowded in the vaults of our great 
publishers as a merchant crowds the hold of his ship. 

“Why, sir, in this very city there is buried treasure, treasure 
under ground ; not diamonds, not ingots, but treasure worth far 
more than any said to have been hidden by Captain Kidd ; genii, 
imprisoned in little boxes, that at the beck of the publisher start 
out with a power more potent than that of the spirit described in 
the Arabian tale. Surely, then, the press does indeed constitute 
the ‘ fourth estate ; ’ and if it were not, as I have observed, so 
democratic, I should say that to it belongs one of the great dia¬ 
dems of the world. 

“And thus, Mr. President, the third phase of the printing press 
of the age of steam and electricity assumes the most momentous 
interest ; for nobody can study this wonderful instrument without 












196 THE PRINTING PRESS. 

discovering that mainly, that on the whole, it is an agent of great 
and beneficent uses. 

“ I shall not enter, now, into any abstract argument to prove 
that this is the case, by showing that freedom and intelligence, 
and virtue and religion are linked indissolubly together ; and 
that old Milton was right in what he said about truth being left 
free to combat with error. But, d priori , I should believe that 
the printing press, in the age of steam and electricity, must be 
the agent of the highest uses — the best ends, because, sir, I 
believe that there is no great action of the natural or social 
world permitted by Providence, without these ends. There was 
truth in the old conceit that the stars are mated with human des¬ 
tiny, and that distant planets reflect aspects of this earth. There 
is truth in the conception that every great movement of being and 
of power involves the purposes of God in regard to humanity. 

“ Do you think all these splendid vehicles of communication 
were matters of pleasure and profit, of commerce and the custom¬ 
house, only ? I see a Providential purpose levying on these railroads 
and telegraphs to do its work, and far out on lonely seas it hangs 
its signal-lanterns on the bows of your steamships. And almost 
the first thought—the comprehensive and most glorious thought— 
which the printing press awakens in your mind and my mind, and 
in the mind of every man, is that of great and beneficent uses. 
All its appurtenances are quickly translated into this meaning. 
Human measures are defeated, methods fail, but God’s own pur¬ 
poses never ; and the processes of his eternal righteousness and 
truth run in the iron grooves of the printing press. 

“ And so, Mr. President, it is the moral interest of the great 
power that is represented here to-night, that lends to the occasion 
its most suggestive aspect. It is the fact that the power wielded 
by this Publishers’ Association is so much power working, on the 
whole, against the wrong and the falsehood that are in the world. 
I look upon these great printing-offices and factories of books as 
so many moral encampments, and upon these ranks of working-men 
and working-women as indeed a vast army, arrayed against huge 










THE PRINTING PRESS. 197 

Redans and Malakoffs of evil. Gentlemen of tlie New York 
Publishers’ Association, I thank you for those munitions of war, 
those embattled hosts and yonder glittering signals of success. 
Women, bending over your work, toil on, for it leads to a result 
well worthy the spirit and the true mission of woman. And you, 
my brethren, with rolled-up sleeves, remember it is a world-wide, 
a final conflict in which you are engaged. The rumble of the 
power-press is better than the rattle of artillery. The click of 
composing-sticks is more inspiring than the clank of armor, and 
every type, more sure than a bullet, and shooting noiseless as the 
summer air, shall hit the mark, though it be a thousand years 
ahead. Advance, battalions ! for with every forward step the old 
wrong and falsehood of the world grows weaker, and is made 
ready to pass away ! ” ■ 














MOUNT ETNA. 

« HIS volcano, situated near the sea-coast in the north¬ 
eastern part of the island of Sicily, has "been longer 
known to history, and is of vastly greater extent, than 
Vesuvius; in comparison with it, the latter is indeed only a hill. 
Its eruptions arc recorded nearly a thousand years before Christ, 
and thus we know it to have mustered its energies, and poured 
forth its flames at intervals, for nearly three thousand years. It 
rises to a height of about 11,000 feet, and its base occupies 
a surface ninety miles in circumference. The lava streams of 
Vesuvius do not exceed seven miles in length ; while those of 
Etna extend to eighteen miles in length, five in width, and from 
fifty to a hundred feet in thickness. 

The mountain, which is a single elevation, separate from every 
[198] 




























MOUNT ETNA. 199 

other, appears to be a natural elevation covered with a mass of 
'volcanic materials — stone, earth, ashes, and lava — thrown out 
at different periods, doubtless reaching back for long ages prior 
to the first records of history. 

From the earliest times, it has attracted the attention of man¬ 
kind. In remote periods, before science had scattered the specters 
of superstition, it was the imaginary workshop where Vulcan, 
and his assistants, the Cyclops, forged the thunderbolts of Jupiter. 
and performed the other marvels attributed to these giant black¬ 
smiths. 

The mountain can be ascended to the top of the crater, though 
it is a matter of some difficulty. The lower parts are fertile, and 
are teeming with vineyards, oranges, olives, and other fruits. 
Then, as you ascend, conies a wooded region, and finally a cone — 
pierced with one grand crater in the center, and sixty or seventy 
lesser ones at the sides—absolutely destitute of vegetation, and 
for six months of the year covered witli snow and ice. These 
latter constitute some of the chief articles of commerce for the 
adjacent country. 

The eruptions of Etna seem to be less frequent than those of ' 
A esuvius ; about sixty, however, being recorded. One of the 
most terrible eruptions was that of 1669, in which fourteen towns 
and villages, some having a population of three or four thousand 
inhabitants, were overwhelmed by the enormous flood of lava. 
This at last reached the walls of Catania, situated at the foot of 
the mountain, yet at a point nearly fifteen miles from the crater. 
These walls were of great height, and had been constructed to 
protect the city. The lava was arrested for a time; but it 
gradually rose, and at last poured into the town, destroying a 
great part of it. In one place, the lava was sixty feet thick, and 
was eight years in cooling! Thirty thousand people perished in 
this fearful convulsion of nature. 

In 1792, an eruption commenced, which continued, almost 
without cessation, for a whole year. It began by a tree-shaped 
mass of black smoke, rising to the clouds ; then were heard loud 










200 MOUNT ETNA. 

rumblings in the bosom of the mountain, with occasional sounds 
like the discharges of artillery. After a few days, lava began to 
flow forth from several mouths in the sides of the mountain, and 
the streams, rushing forward, broke over the old beds of lava 
with loud crackling sounds, and at the same time swept the 
ground, carrying along with them the earth, stones, trees, and 
other substances which they found in their passage. They also 
filled up valleys, overwhelmed vineyards, and even approached 
the walls of towns. When flowing freely, these currents of lava 
were almost thirty feet thick ; but in some places they accu¬ 
mulated to the depth of throe hundred feet! 

The city of Catania, situated, as we have said, at the foot of 
the mountain, is one of the most beautiful places in the world. It 
is of high antiquity, and has frequently suffered from earthquakes 
and volcanic eruptions ; yet it seems always to rise, like the 
phoenix, more beautiful from its ruins. The very substance which 
at various periods ravaged its plains has, by its own decomposi¬ 
tion, covered them with a soil fertile as that of the fabled 
Hesperides. The lava which formerly brought death and de- 
' struction to the city and all within it, now converted into stone, 
is the great building material for houses, palaces, churches, 
convents, and other public edifices; thus contributing to the 
restoration and embellishment of that which it before over¬ 
whelmed. 













I 


MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT. 



WAS morn, and, wending on its way, 
Beside my path a stream was playing ; 
And down its banks, in humor gay, 

A thoughtless hoyden boy was straying. 


Light as the breeze, they onward flew — 
That joyous youth and laughing tide — 
And seemed each other’s course to woo, 
For long they bounded side by side. 


And now the dimpling water stayed, 
And glassed its ripples in a nook ; 
And on its breast a bubble played, 
Which won the boy’s admiring look. 

He bent him o’er the river’s brim, 

And on the radiant vision gazed ; 
For lovelier still, it seemed to him 
That, in its breast, his image blazed. 
[ 201 ] 


















202 MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT. 

With beating heart, and trembling finger, 

He stooped the wondrous gem to clasp, 

But, spell-bound, seemed a while to linger, 
Ere yet he made th’ adventurous grasp. 

And still a while the glittering toy, 
Coquettish, seemed to shun the snare ; 

And then more eager grew the boy, 

And followed with impetuous air. 

Round and around, with heedful eyes, 

He chased it o’er the wavy river : 

He marked his time, and seized his prize ; 
But, in his hand, it burst forever! 

Upon the river’s marge he sate, 

The tears adown his young cheek gushing ; 

And long — his heart disconsolate — 

He heeded not the river’s rushing. 

But tears will cease : and now the boy 
Once more looked forth upon the stream ; 

’Twas morning still ; and lo ! a toy, 

Bright as the lost one, in the beam. 

He rose — pursued—the bubble caught; 

It burst—he sighed—then others chased; 

And as I parted, still he sought 

New bubbles in their downward haste. 

My onward path I still pursued, 

Till the high noon-tide sun was o’er me ; 

And now, though changed in form and mood, 
That youth and river seemed before me. 









MORNING, NOON AND NIGHT. 203 

The deepened stream more proudly swept, 

Though chafed by many a vessel’s prow : 

The youth in manhood’s vigor stepped, 

But care was chiseled on his brow. 

Still on the stream he kept his eye, 

And wooed the bubbles to the shore, 

And snatched them as they circled by, 

Though bursting as they burst before. 

Once more we parted. Yet again 
We met, though now ’twas evening dim ; 

Onward the waters rushed amain 
And vanished o’er a cataract’s brim. 

Though fierce and wild the raging surge, 

The bubble-chaser still was there, 

And, bending o’er the cataract’s verge, 

Clutched at the gaudy things of air. 

With staff in hand, and tottering knee, 

Upon the slippery brink he stood, 

And watched, with doting ecstasy, 

Each wreath of foam that rode the flood. 

“ One bubble more! ” I heard him call, 

And saw his eager fingers play : 

He snatched, and down the roaring fall, 

With the lost bubble, passed away! 











I 



THE LUMP-SUCKER. 



0 person can look upon the portrait of this fish w ithout a 
smile ; and yet. if a reason for this w-ere demanded, it 
might not be easy to give it. Perhaps the explanation 
lies in that expression of gruff dignity and stupid importance 
which belongs to its countenance and its form, suggesting a striking- 
resemblance to individuals we have occasionally seen in life. No 
person of observation can fail to have met with human lump¬ 
suckers, men resembling this burly fish, which is noted for its 
swelling body and pompous face, while its little fins evidently 


show it to be comparatively slow and feeble in its movements. 
The various names given to it, of “ sea-owl,” “ lump-sucker,” and 
“ cock-paddle,” show the ludicrous associations which its appear¬ 


ance has excited. 

Nevertheless, the lump-fish is not without its points of interest. 
It is as variable in the colors of its dress as a city belle, being- 
arrayed in brilliant crimson, mingled wdth orange, purple, and 
blue, before the spawning season; afterwards assuming the ma¬ 
tronly hues of the dove. When very young, like youth in 
general, it is smooth and beautiful, and is adorned with a coat of 

many colors; but as it grow r s old, like man himself, its skin 
[ 204 ] 
















THE LUMP-SUCKER. 205 

becomes rough, and warty, and repulsive. In its old age, too, it 
acquires an obstinacy which has its parallel, no doubt, in the 
animals of our race, though its mode of exhibition may be peculiar 
to this inhabitant of the sea. It has under its throat a powerful 
sucker, composed of the pectoral and ventral fins; and such is its 
force, in an old fish, that when put into a pail with several gallons 
of water, it has been known to adhere so firmly to the bottom 
that the whole was lifted up by the tail, and still the creature 
refused to let go his hold. What a reflection is this of many an 
old land lump-sucker that everybody lias seen! 

In order to complete our account of this curious member of the 
finny tribe, we must add that, when full grown, it is about sixteen 
inches long and eight deep. Its burly appearance arises in part 
from its projecting under jaw, its elevated crest or ridge running 
along its back, its bulky disproportion of form to its fins, and its 
rows of tubercles running along its body. It is seldom served up 
on the table, and owes its chief celebrity to the eccentricity of its 
appearance. 















THE EASTERN END OF T IT E V A L I. E Y 



THE ROCK-BUILT CITY OF PETRA. 

HE country called Edom in the Scriptures, and Idumea 
by the Greeks, is situated at the north-eastern angle of 
Arabia, being about a hundred miles south of Jerusalem, 
and two hundred east of Memphis, the ancient capital of Egypt. 
Its original boundaries were of narrow extent, being confined 
within that portion of Arabia Petraea which lies around the 
range of Mount Seir, and of which Mount Hor is the principal 
peak. Rocks, deserts, and mountains, constitute the general 
features of this country, although, amidst these barren tracts, there 
are scattered many patches of fertile soil. 

The first historical notices of this country occur in the Hebrew 
Scriptures. While the Israelites were detained in bondage in 
Egypt, the Edomites, or descendants of Esau, became a rich and 
powerful nation. The dukes of Edom, as we learn from the book 
of Genesis, were famous long before there reigned any king over 
Israel, and they refused Moses a passage through their territories 

[20G] 


i 

































THE ROCK-BUILT CITY OF PETRA. 207 

to the land of Canaan. The Edomites first settled in the rocky 
fastnesses of Mount Seir, which commanded the great road tra¬ 
versed by the commercial caravans of the early ages. Their 
capitals were Bozrah and Petra. The latter was situated at the 
foot of Mount Ilor, in a deep valley, and the only access to it 
was through a narrow defile, partly natural and partly cut through 
the solid rock, which hung over the passage, and in some places 
interrupted the view of the heavens. The sides of the rock were 
excavated into numerous dwellings ; and to this circumstance the 
prophet Jeremiah probably alludes in his denunciation of God’s 
vengeance against Edom. “ Thy terribleness hath deceived 
thee, and the pride of thine heart, 0 thou that dwellest in the 
clefts of the rock, that boldest the height of the hill. Though 
thou shouldst make thy nest as high as the eagle, 1 will bring 
thee down from thence, saith the Lord.” This prophecy, as we 
shall see, was fearfully fulfilled. 

It is not our purpose to give in detail the history of Edom: it 
will be sufficient for our present purpose to say, that under a race of 
native princes, the Edomites long maintained their independence: 
they were, however, at length divided into two portions, those 
who occupied the city of Petra and the vicinity taking the name 
of Nabatheans, while those who dwelt along the borders of Judea 
still held the name of Idumcans. The latter ceased to exist as an 
independent people about the year 146 B. C., and their name 
gradually faded from history: the former continued for two 
hundred and fifty years later as a distinct nation, but at last were 
overwhelmed by the Romans. 

The city of Petra, the capital of the Nabatheans, as well in its 
history as its present aspect, is an object of the most intense 
interest. The time of its foundation is unknown ; but it appears 
to have been coeval with the birth of Eastern commerce, and 
there is full evidence that it was a flourishing mart of trade 
seventeen* hundred years before the Christian era. It was the 
point to which all the commerce of Northern Arabia originally 
tended, and where the first merchants of the earth stored the 











208 THE ROCK- BUILT CITY OF PETRA. 

precious commodities of the East. It formed the great emporium 
of mercantile exchange between Palestine, Syria, and Egypt. The 
famous soothsayer, Balaam, was a native of this place, and its 
inhabitants, in his time, were renowned for their learning, their 
oracular temple, and their skill in augury. During the whole 
period of the history of Edom, this city appears to have been a 
seat of wealth and commerce. Strabo, at the commencement of 
the Christian era, describes it from the account of his friend 
Athenodorus, the philosopher, who spoke with great admiration 
of the civilized manners of its inhabitants, of the crowds of Roman 
and foreign merchants there, and of the excellent government ol‘ 
its kings. The city, he says, was surrounded with precipitous 
cliffs, but was rich in gardens, and supplied with an abundant 
spring, which rendered it the most important fortress in the 
desert. Pliny, somewhat later, describes it, more correctly, as a 
city nearly two miles in extent, with a river running through the 
midst of it, and situated in a vale inclosed with steep mountains 
to which all natural access was cut off. 

With the decline and fall of the Roman power in the East, the 
name of Petra, for a time, almost vanishes from the page of his¬ 
tory. About the period of the crusades, however, it was held in 
such esteem by the sultans of Egypt, on account of its great 
strength, that they made it the depository of their choicest treas¬ 
ures. During the whole of these religious wars, Petra formed an 
object of earnest contention between the Christians and the 
Mussulmans, who regarded it as the key to Palestine. After the 
cessation of the crusades, its once crowded market ceased to be 
the emporium of nations. Gradually it faded from notice, became 
forgotten, and was a lost city to the rest of the world. The 
obscurity of a thousand years covered its ruins, and the very 
place where it stood was a subject of controversy. 

At length, Petra, after being for a series of ages as completely 
hidden, in its solitude, from the knowledge of mankind, as the 
Island of Atlantis or the fabled Paradise of Irem, was suddenly 
and unexpectedly brought to light. For this discovery we are 








THE ROCK- BUILT CITY OF PETRA. 


209 


indebted to the traveler Burckhardt, who visited Petra in 1812. 
Since that time, other travelers have resorted to the spot, and by 
their picturesque and accurate drawings, have done, for the tem¬ 
ples and catacombs of Petra, what the splendid illustrations of 
Wood and Dawkins performed for the ruins of Palmyra. The 
first emotion in the minds of all these visitors, was that of aston¬ 
ishment at the utter desolation which now reigns over those once 
celebrated regions. It is scarcely possible to imagine how a 
wilderness so dreary and repulsive could ever have been adorned 
with walled cities, or inhabited for ages by a powerful and opulent 
people. The aspect of the surrounding country is singularly wild 
and fantastic. On one side stretches an immense desert of shifting; 
sand, the surface of which is covered with black flints, and broken 
by hillocks into innumerable undulations. On the other side arc 
rugged and insulated precipices, among which rises Mount Hor, 
with its dark summits ; near it lies the ancient Petra, in a plain 
or hollow of unequal surface, enclosed on all sides with a vast 
amphitheater of rocks. 

The entrance to this celebrated metropolis is from the cast, 
through a deep ravine ; and it is not easy to conceive anything 
more awful or sublime than the sight here presented. Its width, 
in general, is not more than sufficient for the passage of two 
horsemen abreast, and through the bottom winds the stream that 
once watered the city. On the sides of the ravine rise perpen¬ 
dicular walls of rock, from four hundred to seven hundred feet 
high, which often overhang to such a degree as almost to touch 
each other at the top, leaving scarcely more light than in a cavern. 
The sides of this romantic chasm, from which several small streams 
of water issue, arc clothed with the tamarisk, the wild fig, the 
oleander, and other trees, which sometimes hang down from the 
clifls and crevices in beautiful festoons. Near the entrance of the 
pass, a bold arch of masonry is seen springing over the yawning- 
abyss, at a great height, and apparently inaccessible. For nearly 
two miles, the sides of the chasm continue to increase in height as 
the path descends. The solitude is disturbed by the incessant 
14 
































210 THE ROCK-BUILT CITY OF PETRA. 

screaming of eagles. Farther onward, a stronger light begins to 
break through the somber perspective, until, at length, the ruins 
of the city burst on the view of the astonished traveler, in their 
full grandeur, shut in on every side by barren, craggy precipices. 

Safety and protection, in an age when nations and tribes were 
little better than brigands, appear to have been the only objects 
that could induce a wealthy people to make choice of so remark¬ 
able a site for a capital. The whole face of the cliffs and all the 
sides of the mountains are covered with an endless variety of 
excavated tombs, private dwellings, and public buildings, present¬ 
ing altogether a spectacle without a parallel in any part of the 
world. The rocks are tinted with the most extraordinary hues. 
They arc generally of a dark color, with veins of white, blue, pur¬ 
ple, and orange, in rainbow streaks. Their summits present an 
aspect of nature in her most savage and romantic form, while 
their bases are worked out in all the symmetry and regularity of 
art, with colonnades, and pediments, and ranges of corridors 
adhering to the perpendicular surface. The inner and wider 
extremity of the circuitous defile by which the city is approached, 
is sculptured and excavated in a singular manner ; and these 
works become more frequent on both sides, until at last it has the 
appearance of a continued street of tombs. 

About midway in this passage is a. spot abrupt and precipitous, 
where thc area of the natural chasm spreads a little, and sweeps 
into an irregular circle. Here is to be seen the most singular of 
all these architectural monuments : the natives call it the Castle 
of Pharaoh , though it more resembles a sepulchre than the resid¬ 
ence of a prince. The front rises in several stories to the height 
of sixty or seventy feet, ornamented with columns, rich friezes, 
pediments, and huge figures of horses and men. On the summit 
is a large vase, supposed by the Arabs to be full of coins ; hence 
they give to this mysterious urn the name of the Treasury of 
Pharaoh. Its height and position seem to have baffled every 
approach of avarice or curiosity. From above it, is rendered 
inaccessible by the bold projection of the rough rocks, and from 















THE ROCK-BUILT CITY OF PETRA. 211 

below, by the smoothness of the polished surface. The interior of 
this mausoleum or castle consists of a large, square chamber, with 
walls and ceiling, perfectly smooth. The surprising effect of the 
exterior is heightened by the situation and singular character of 
the approach to it. Half seen, at first, through the dim and nar¬ 
row opening, columns, statues, and cornices, gradually appear, as 
if fresh from the chisel, without the tint and weather-stains of 
age, and executed in stone of a pale rose color. This splendid 
architectural elevation has been so contrived, that a statue with 
expanded wings just fills the center of the aperture in front, which, 
being closed below by the ledges of the rock folding over each 
other, gives to the figure the appearance of being suspended in 
the air at a considerable height. No part of this stupendous tem¬ 
ple is built , properly speaking ; the whole is hewn from the solid 
rock ; and its minutest embellishments, wherever the hand of man 
has not effaced them, are so perfect, that it may be doubted whether 
any work of the ancients, except in Egypt, has survived, with so 
little injury from the lapse of time. 

The ruins of the city itself open on the view with singular effect. 

After winding two or three miles through the dark ravine, tombs 
present themselves, not only in every avenue within it, and on 
every precipice that surrounds it, but even intermixed with the 
public and domestic edifices ; so that Petra has been truly denomi¬ 
nated one vast necropolis. It contains above two hundred and 
fifty sepulchres, which are occasionally excavated in tiers, one 
above the other, and in places where the cliff is so perpendicular, 
that all access to the uppermost seems impossible. There arc, 
besides, numerous mausoleums of colossal dimensions, in a state 
of wonderful preservation. Toward the middle of the valley are 
two large truncated pyramids, and a theater, cut out of the solid 
rock, with complete rows of benches, capable of containing above 
three thousand spectators. The ground is covered with heaps of 
hewn stones, foundations of buildings, fragments of pillars, and 
vestiges of paved streets—the sad memorials of departed greatness. 

The immense number of these stupendous ruins corroborates 












212 


THE ROCK- BUILT CITY OF PETRA. 


the accounts given, both by sacred and profane writers, of the 
kings of Petra—their courtly grandeur, and their ancient and 
long-continued royalty. Great must have been the wealth of a 
city that could dedicate such monuments to the memory of its 
rulers. Its magnificence can be explained only by the immense 
trade of which it seems to have been the common center from the 
very dawn of civilization. The fashion of many of these edifices 
denotes, pretty nearly, the age to which they belong. Their relics 
exhibit a mixture of Grecian and Roman architecture, although 
the ground is strewn with others of a more ancient date. On one 
of the tombs is a Latin inscription, with the name of a magistrate 
who died in the city, being governor of Palestina Tertia, in the 
second century after Christ. 

These magnificent remains can now be regarded only as the 
grave of Idumea, in which its former wealth and splendor lie 
interred. The state of desolation into which it has fallen is not 
only the work of time, but the fulfillment of prophecy, which fore¬ 
told that wisdom and understanding should perish out of Mount 
Seir ; that Edom should be a wilderness, and its cities a perpetual 
waste, the abode of every unclean beast. The prediction of 
Isaiah is literally verified — “ Thorns shall come up in her 
palaces, nettles and brambles in the fortresses thereof: the cormo¬ 
rant and the bittern shall possess it, and it shall be a habitation 
of dragons and a court for owls.” 

These ghastly vestiges of ancient wealth and splendor are not 
confined to Petra and the immediate vicinity. In various parts 
of the country are immense ruins, testifying its former magnifi¬ 
cence. But for these, which, in their present state of desolation, 
bespeak the glory of former ages, the traveler could scarcely 
believe that a region absolutely divested of inhabitants, blasted 
by the scorching sun, and chiefly tenanted by scorpions, could 
once have been covered with waving fields of corn, rich vinevards, 
pastures teeming with cattle, and cities filled with people, busy in 
the arts and cares of husbandry, commerce, and manufactures! 
How strange, how fearful are the mutations of human fortune! 


* 













HE more we examine into the vast mystery of Creation, 
the more wonderful does it appear to our senses. Under 
whatever aspect we consider it, new features constantly 
present themselves, thus not only proving that the subject is 
inexhaustible, but that some of the most startling points have either 
escaped us altogether, or have only been casually and carelessly 
noticed. In illustration of this fact, we may mention the various 
faculties of the animal creation, which at first we are apt to refer 
to a single gift, denominated instinct; but on further examination 
we find nearly every mental and moral quality in man, represented, 
in a greater or less degree, by some of the animal tribes. That 
in these respects man still stands at an unapproachable distance 
above each and all of these races, in mind and soul, is manifest; 
but yet it is alike curious and instructive to trace out the in¬ 
finitely diversified forms in which creative wisdom, and power, 

[ 213 ] 













214 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMiLS. 

and goodness, lias bestowed its gifts upon the innumerable 
creatures which it has endowed with life. A few observations 
upon this subject, will place it in a clear light. 

the Sense of &oucb. 

0 *•* 

This is the lowest, but the most 
extensively diffused of the senses. 
In the absence of every other, it still 
holds its place, and may, in fact, be 
considered as the universal sense. 
By its means the animal is made 
aware of the nature of space, size, 
form, extent, of hard and soft, of 
oven and uneven, and ascertains both 
the weight and temperature of foreign 
bodies. But besides this universal 
quality of the skin, in which, among 
the higher classes of animals, a net-work of the minutest blood¬ 
vessels and nerves spreads itself, forming in places little promi¬ 
nences, or papillae, we often find separate parts—tentacula—which, 
like an elongated membrane of the skin, arc endowed with the 
most delicate sense of perception, and in which a higher power oi 
sensibility seems to reside. 

Thus, the eyelashes, the proboscis, the neck-shaped and lip-like 
extension of the dorsal parts in the infusoria; the tentacula or 
feelers, in the polypi, the sea anemones, the star and cuttle 
fishes; the tube-like feet in the star-fish and sea-hedgehogs, and 
the horns and feelers in certain worms, snails, spiders, crabs, and 
insects, become peculiar organs of sensation. These organs play 
a most important part as regards the means of perception and 
intercourse among insects. Latreille relates that having de¬ 
prived several honey-bees of their antennm, lie placed them close 
to their hive, and that they crawled about in all directions, as if 
unconscious where they were, or what they were about. 












THE SENSE OF TOUCH. 


215 



The lips and snouts of fishes are furnished with numerous nerves. 
Snakes, from their peculiar bodily construction, have the percep¬ 
tion of touch highly developed, for, from the great flexibility of 
the spine, they can seize and wind themselves round all objects, 
and make themselves acquainted with, their nature ; and hence, 
doubtless, arose the saying, that “ their body is their hand.” The 
prehensile tail of the lizard tribe, of the chameleons and geckos, 
and of some species of monkeys, is a powerful instrument of this 
sense. Even the thick and apparently insensible skin of the 
former lias a clear perception of touch ; and it has been remarked 
that the lizard, notwithstanding its scales, is immediately aware 
of a fly settling upon it. 

Among birds, the point of the bill is a delicate organ of touch, 
but it is most strongly developed in the waders and swimmers. 
Their bill is covered with a fine membrane, which possesses the 

nicest power of discrimination and 
sensation, and enables them to seek 
their food deep in the mud, wdiere 
its presence is alone detected by the 
touch. The toes, also, furnished with 
a kind of wart-like process, possess 
the same property to a great extent. 

Among the mammalia, the lips, the 
extremity of the nose, and the bristles 
surrounding it, exercise the principal 
functions of the touch. The shrew- 
mouse and the mole, to suit their 
peculiar habits, have the nose singu¬ 
larly elongated, with the power of 
moving it; and as the eyes of the 
latter are extremely small, the nose 
is a substitute for those organs. But among the pachydermata, 
the nose possesses even a more exquisite degree of power. In the 
swine and the tapir it begins to assume the character of the pro¬ 
boscis which presently, in the elephant, becomes so perfect an organ, 


















21G THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

that it is equal to all the functions of the hand. Its sensibility is 
so refined, and its perception so nice, that it can discriminate 
between objects by the merest touch ; and the preservation of 
this faculty by the animal seems to be of such vital importance, 
that its constant care, in moments of exposure or danger, is to 
guard the organ from injury. In tiger-hunting especially, when 
urged to the charge, or anticipating an attack, it curls its proboscis 
backwards over its head, as a protection. 

The rhinoceros has a soft, hook-shaped apophysis on the upper 
lip, which, being always moist, is endowed with the keenest 
susceptibility. The whiskers of the Rodentia, the feline tribe, 
and the seals, possess a most remarkable degree of sensibility, 
particularly at their roots. A rabbit, deprived of these and having 
its eyes bound, could not extricate itself from a passage formed of 
books piled together, without coming in contact with them ; and 
the same animal, uncurtailed of these necessary appendages, 
pursues its course in its burrow with unchecked rapidity. Cats, 
also, lose the faculty of mousing, from, the same cause, every 
separate hair being a feeler of the most delicate power of sense. 
Bats have an equally surprising degree of consciousness in their 
membranaceous wings and ears. One, which Spallanzini de¬ 
prived of its sight, as we have elsewhere related, pursued its flight 
without interruption, keeping in the middle of narrow crooked 
places, avoiding strings stretched across the room, and selecting 
places to settle on; but deprived also of its ears, it flew about 
without having the power of directing itself. 

The prehensile tail of the American monkeys is very similar in 
its use to that of the tree-climbing lizard. The surface is abun¬ 
dantly furnished with little wart-like excrescences, covered with a 
skin as fine as that of the hollow of the hand, and which is as sus¬ 
ceptible of touch and the nature of objects, as the hand itself. 

The organs of touch serve, in many instances, equally for the 
purposes of motion as for the catching of food. In the polypi 
and cephalopods, the many-jointed tentacula, placed in conjunction 
with the organs of digestion, seize the food, nourish the body, and 
















THE SENSE OF TASTE. 217 

assist its motion. The connection between the organs of degluti¬ 
tion and touch in snakes, is an additional phenomenon ; for it has • 
been ascertained by Hellman, that their forked tongue is pecu¬ 
liarly serviceable lor the latter purpose. They reconnoitre things 
by a brandishment or vibration of the tongue, without immediately 
touching them ; and come to the perception of stationary objects 
most probably by the pressure of the air, for their sight and smell 
are extremely weak. 

The tongue of the woodpecker, elongated and furnished at the 
tip with a kind of bristly process, is remarkably sensitive; for 
when thrust into a hole in a tree, it is instantly aware of its 
contact with an insect, however small, and is withdrawn with the 
insect cleaving to the point. 

% Seine of Ifastc. 

Bv means of the organs of taste 
and smell, animals discriminate 
between the properties of bodies, 
especially of those which partake 
of the nature of food. They are 
situated in the spongy, moist skin, 
which surrounds the mouth and the 
nostrils, parts which are so exquis¬ 
itely tender that any application 
of force to them is sufficient to 
subjugate the most intractable animal. A ring passed through 
the nose of a fierce bull, and checked by a cord, coerces him at 
once; the twitch twisted round that of a vicious horse, compels 
it to remain quiet; and the wire riveted through the snout of a 
pig, prevents it from grubbing up the earth. 

That the sense of taste is conducive to the enjoyment of animals, 
is obvious from the eagerness with which they seek after and 
devour some things, while they pass by others, or only touch 
them when driven by hunger, and positively refuse others al¬ 
together. Their sense of perception is so acute, that with the 


















218 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


exception of the leaves of the jew, which apparently have some 
• attraction, and are fatal in their effects, they never touch anything 
of a poisonous or baneful nature. But i t is highly probable that 
the sense is the most highly developed in those animals furnished 
with a tongue and salivary glands, although a great discrimination 
is shown by some of the inferior classes, as the leech, which 
sucks greedily sweetened water, and in medical cases, operates 
more efficaciously on healthy than unhealthy patients. 

Insects which are furnished with either salivary glands, a 
tongue, or a proboscis, have probably the faculty of taste in one 
of these parts; but many have, besides, a pair of short horns or 
feelers immediately behind the antenna?, which are in perpetual 
motion, in feeling and examining the substance on which the 
insect may be feeding, and hence many entomologists have decided 
that they are the actual organs of taste. 

The tongue and gums of fishes arc gristly and hard, the latter 
being generally densely crowded with teeth, and are, as in 
reptiles, hardly capable of all the refinement of taste; in fact, 
where food is swallowed whole, as with fish, and in an entire state, 
by convulsive efforts, as with serpents, the power of taste must be 
extremely limited. Ruminating animals, although they show a 
stronger partiality for some roots and grasses than for others, and 
thus have a prae-taste for them, experience the greater gratification 
of the taste, in the second process of chewing the cud. 

Sense cf Smell, 

As we have seen, is in close connec¬ 
tion with, and indispensable to, the 
foregoing sense; but its power and 
utility, far from being limited to that 
one end, arc so essential to the exist¬ 
ence and necessities of animals, that 
its development, exceeding by so much 
that of any other sense in delicacy and 
susceptibility, is among the greatest 



















--- 

THE SENSE OF SMELL. 219 

phenomena of animal life. Its object is to distinguish effluvia — 
evaporation or particles of the minutest description — which, light 
as the air itself, spread themselves with instantaneous rapidity 
over an extensive range of atmosphere. 

It is most probable that all animal and vegetable bodies give 
out these infinitesimal particles to a most abundant degree, but 
• our organs are too blunt to detect them, although the savage races 
and animals perceive them immediately. The American Indians 
can not only detect the presence of man at a great distance, 
but can distinguish with certainty between white men and those 
of their own race. Camels passing through the desert can scent 
water at the distance of two or three miles, and rush to it in 
the straightest direction ; and the cattle in Paraguay wind it even 
still further. 

Humboldt says that travelers in South America, when in ex¬ 
tremity for water, abandon their mules to their own guidance, 
which immediately go even in a direction against the wind, 
stopping from time to time and sniffing the air, till they have 
satisfied themselves of the point where water is to be found, towards 
which they hurry, snorting and neighing with impatience. 

Although no distinct organs of smell have been discovered in 
the lower scales of life, as in snails, crabs, carrion beetles, bees, 
and other insects, yet it is evident that they scent their food at an 
amazing distance. Lefebore declares his experiments to prove 
conclusively that the faculty of smell in bees and wasps lies in 
their feelers, for on the removal of only the last joint of them, it 
is entirely lost. 

The edible snail, which is kept in vast quantities in Italy 
and other parts of Southern Europe, comes forth to feed directly 
upon herbs being thrown into its pits. Lexz says that the wood- 
snail may be attracted by fat, and that as it withdraws its horns 
previously to touching any strong smelling substance, these are 
susceptible of smell, and consequently are the organs of that sense. 
Schmarda made various experiments with the edible snails, and 
ascertained that the lower pair of feelers are keenly sensible of 










220 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

odorous substances. He placed near them camphor, oils of juniper, 
turpentine and petroleum, ether, etc., when they immediately 
drew in their horns; and if the scents were particularly strong, 
the action of withdrawal was more instantaneous. 

As it is beyond all doubt that insects ase attracted to and 
distinguish their food by the power of smell, it is also most 
probable that they select the proper objects on which to deposit 
their eggs, by the same faculty. No sooner is a dead mouse 
thrown into the garden, than the various carrion-beetles are busy in 
burying their prey. Leuret states that not being able to discover 
under the flooring of a room a dead rat, whose effluvium was 
most offensive, it occurred to him to put some flesh flics into the 
room, which flying direct to the spot, discovered its position. 
Honey exposed in an open place, will attract bees from a con¬ 
siderable distance. 

Fish are quickly decoyed together by strong smelling matters 
thrown into the water, and fishermen are often in the habit of 
making their bait more attractive by steeping it in essential oil, 
and other powerfully smelling ingredients. According to Bell, 
the fatty glandular substance from the under jaw of the crocodile, 
which is strongly impregnated with musk, is a very effective bait 
for fish. People bathing in the ocean, far from the sight of land, 
and out of all soundings, have often been surprised at the speedy 
appearance of sharks, when none had been visible previously 
from the mast-head of the vessel. 

Among birds, the predatory classes are endowed with a keener 
sense of smell than the granivorous tribes ; but still it has been 
satisfactorily proved that it is not so exquisite as has been sup¬ 
posed, and that they are more dependent on the sight for the dis¬ 
covery of their prey. Audubon stuffed a deer’s skin with hay, and 
placed it in an open field in the attitude of a dead animal. A 
vulture soon made its appearance, and perching on the stuffed 
skin, began to tear it open with all its force, but finding that it 
only drew forth grass, after continuous efforts, it abandoned its 
attempts with evident reluctance. Young vultures in confinement 












THE SENSE OF SMELL. 


221 


give no signs of perceiving the presence of their food, however 
near it may he placed to them, unless they actually see it, as was 
proved by Bachman ; and thus also herons and other waders are 
guided by the sight to the selection of the best supplied fishing- 
places. 

Most animals, on the contrary, have a most extraordinary 
faculty of smell. A dog traces his master and pursues game 
entirely by the scent; a horse winding a lion, at the distance of a 
hundred paces, plunges and becomes unmanageable ; and in a wild 
state, jealous of the least intrusion on its haunts, it posts a sentinel 
for the protection of the herd, which, scenting the approach of man 
from far, gives the signal for flight. Horses accustomed to one 
groom, and refusing to be attended to by a substitute, have been 
deceived by a stranger dressing himself in the clothes of his 
predecessor. They smell at each object with which they are 
brought in contact, and regulate themselves with respect to it, 
according to the impression they thus receive. 

Herbivorous animals distinguish in the same manner those 
plants which are their appropriate food, an.d the faculty of per¬ 
ceiving animal substances by the smell is peculiarly powerful in 
the carnivorous classes, which is exactly the reverse with birds of 
prey. Audubon concealed the carcase of a hog, in the month of 
July, at the bottom of a deep ravine in one of the southern states, 
where corruption is almost instantaneous ; several vultures passed 
over the spot without perceiving it, although the effluvium was 
so strong that he found it unbearable at a distance of forty 
yards ; but the dogs soon winded it, and consumed a great portion 
of the flesh. Dogs, like pigs, scent truffles in the earth, and such 
as know their taste, from having had them mixed in their food, 
seek for them and scratch them up with avidity. Cats are 
attracted by the smell of valerian, and rats by essential oil, par¬ 
ticularly by rhodium. 

Animals, in general, perceive their most dangerous enemies by 
the smell, and thus a fox will not go near its earth for many days, 
if a terrier has been in it. Sheep, when fresh shorn, arc not 
















222 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

recognized by their lambs, which run hither and thither, attracted 
by the well-known bleat, in confusion at not seeing the accustomed 
form, till they identify it by the smell. Bloodhounds, if put on a 
scent, will follow it with unerring certainty ; if of a man, through 
the crowd and confusion of a market-town ; and if of an animal, 
particularly a wounded one, into the herd in which it may have 
taken shelter, without being baffled by' the scent of the surround¬ 
ing beasts. 

Animals follow in pursuit, either by the power of the actual 
scent itself, or by the trail left on the earth in the passage of the 
flying object. Thus hounds run breast-high Avhen the scent is hot, 
and puzzle anxiously along the ground when the surrounding air 
no longer supports it. The exercise consists in the attempt to dis¬ 
tinguish the various essences floating in the atmosphere, to which 
end the animal turns his nose to the wind and inhales strongly : 
it would seem to be a sense of enjoyment, as in the case of the 
pointer, notwithstanding education has brought all his powers into 
subjection, yet the inflation of the nostrils and the tremulous 
movement of the jowls, when he is in the act of setting game, are 
highly remarkable. The stag can scent a man at the distance of 
several hundred paces, and Scoresby relates that the polar bear 
climbs the icebergs and winds a dead whale, and even a lump of 
the cooked flesh, many miles away. 

The trail is peculiarly that scent which is communicated to the 
earth or other substance by the touch of the animal passing over 
it, and was supposed to have been discernible only by animals of 
the carnivorous species ; but it has been satisfactorily proved that 
most of the other families possess the faculty. Hares have been 
seen to track each other by the scent. Hounds running with their 
noses to the ground arc led on only by the trail, and often pass 
close to their game, which has doubled back almost on its former 
track : the gazehound, on the contrary, is guided entirely by the 
view, which once lost is not to be recovered. Thompson, from 
whose work on the “ Passions of Animals,” we borrow the greater 
part of this article, tells us that in coursing once with a pair of 










THE SENSE OF HEARING. 


* 


qoo 

+j(J 


very fine (logs which had gained several prizes at Swaffham, the 
liare, being hard-pushed, took a maze through a strong quick-set 
hedge, which the dogs topped almost at the same instant and 
together. The narrator was close at their heels, and found 
them at fault, straining their sight in every possible direction, 
instead of being in full chase. He was as much at fault as 
the dogs, as it was not possible for the hare to have distanced 
them ; and, on examination of the spot, he found the hare dead in 
a wire which had been set in the maze in question, witli its neck 
broken by the violence of its impetus. Had the dogs possessed 
the least nose, they would have scented the hare, which lay within 
two or three yards of them. 

SIjc l?cnse of fpmhtg 

Is the conscious sensibility of the vibration of the air ; a sense of 
perception different from that of the touch, inasmuch as it does 
not operate by a strong, visible, and continuous effect, but by a 
gentle and rapid impression on a certain organ, which is the 
peculiar seat of the sense, although the whole body possesses the 
same sensibility to a limited extent. Thus, partially deaf people 
are conscious of sound by bringing some part of their body in 
immediate contact with that emitting the sound, as by placing the 
hand on a musical instrument; but that faculty, as proved by 
Swan, is destroyed by tying a bandage tight round the arm, and 
thus deadening the nerve. Deaf and dumb people are aware of 
the approach of a carriage, and even of a footstep, by a slight 
vibration of the nervous system, occasioned by the earth serving 
as a conductor to the sound ; in the same way, they feel the 
slamming of a door in a distant part of the house : many, also 
experience a strong palpitation of the heart at any sudden and 
violent concussion of the air. 

It appears that among the lower orders of animals, whether 
aquatic or otherwise, the sense of touch is a substitute for 
hearing. In ascending the scale, the first trace of an apparatus 
of this kind is found in animals of the crab species. The lobster 






















224 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


lias at the root of its feelers small holes, which terminate in a 
purse, thickly furnished with a quantity of fine thread-like nerves, 
constituting the organ; this approach is guarded by the shell on 
all sides, excepting at one spot where it is protected by a mem¬ 
brane. Spiders hear with great acuteness, and it is affirmed that 
they are attracted by music. Disjonval relates the instance of a 
spider which used to place itself on the ceiling of a room over the 
spot where a lady played.the harp, and which followed her if 
she removed to another part. He also says that the celebrated 
violinist Berthome, when a boy, saw a spider habitually approach 
him as soon as he began to play, and which eventually became so 
familiar that it would fix itself on his desk, and even on his arm. 
Bettina noticed the same effect with a guitar, on a spider, which 
accidentally crossed over it as she was playing. 

Spry and others state that the snake-catchers in the East 
Indies have the art of enticing snakes from their concealment, by 
a kind of song or humming sound. Neales affirms that he 
tamed rattle snakes by music, and, however dangerous they might 
be, he completely subdued them, which is confirmed by Chateau- 
' BRiAND, who saw the anger of one of these reptiles entirely soothed 
by the tones of a flute. Lenz cites the instance of a goose which 
followed a harp-player whenever he performed. Bechstein says,. 
that mice are attracted by music, and Bettina noticed the same 
in running up the gamut. An elephant in Paris, within hearing 
of a concert, expressed, by its gestures, its pleasure at some pieces, 
while others did not affect it. Some dogs are singularly excited 
by music, and accompany it with a distressing kind of howl. It 
is known to sportsmen that the deer and roe listen to music; and, 
according to Obsonville. monkeys are attracted by it, and exhibit 
marked delight. 

Haydn relates the following anecdote with regard to the power 
of music : “ In my early youth I went with some other young 
people, equally devoid of care, one day during the extreme heat 
of summer, to seek for coolness and fresh air on one of the lofty 
mountains which surround the Lago Maggiorc, in Lombardy. 





















THE SENSE 


OF HEARING. 


225 


Having reached by day-break the middle of the ascent, we stopped 
to contemplate the Borromean isles, which were displayed under 
our feet, in the middle of the lake, when we were surrounded by a 
large flock of sheep, which were leaving their fold to go to their 
pasture. 

“ One of our party, who was no bad performer on the flute, and 
who always carried his instrument along with him, took it out of 
his pocket. ‘ I am going/ said he, ‘ to turn Corydon ; let us see 
whether Virgil’s sheep will recognize their pastor.’ He began to 
play. The sheep and goats, which were following one another 
towards the mountain, with their heads hanging down, raised 
them at the first sound of the flute, and all, with a general and 
hasty movement, turned to the side from whence the agreeable 
sounds proceeded. Gradually they flocked round the musician, 
and listened with motionless attention. He ceased playing ; still 
the sheep did not stir. The shepherd with his staff obliged those 
nearest to him to move on. They obeyed ; but no sooner did the 
flutist begin to play again, than his auditors again returned to 
him. 

“ The shepherd, out of patience, pelted them with clods of earth ; 
but not one would move. The flutist played with additional skill; 
the shepherd fell into a passion, whistled, scolded, and pelted the 
mutinous amateurs with stones. Such as were hit by them, began 
to march, but the others still refused to stir. At last, the shepherd 
was obliged to entreat our Orpheus to stop his magic sounds ; the 
sheep then moved off, but continued to stop at a distance, as often 
as our friend resumed the agreeable instrument. The tune lie 
played was nothing more than the favorite air of the opera at that 
time performing at Milan. As music was our continual employ¬ 
ment, we were delighted with our adventure ; we reasoned upon 
it the whole day, and concluded that physical pleasure is the basis 
of all music.” 

Bingley gives a singular anecdote of the effect of music on a 
pigeon, as related by John Lockman, in some reflections concern¬ 
ing operas, prefixed to his musical drama of Rosalinda. He was 
15 




















226 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


staying at a friend’s house, whose daughter was a line performer 
on the harpsichord, and observed a pigeon, which, whenever the 
young lady played the song of “ Speri-si,” in Handel’s opera of 
Admetus—and this only—would descend from an adjacent dove- 
house to the room-window, where she sat, and listen to it appar¬ 
ently with the most pleasing emotions ; and when the song was 
finished, it always returned immediately to the dove-house. 

It is certain that insects are sensible of sound ; for crickets and 
grasshoppers answer to each other’s chirpings, and they may be 
even enticed and caught by the imitation of their note. In Italy, 
the noise made by the chirpings of the Cicada is almost deafening, 
and it has been noticed that a beginning made by one individual, 
has been immediately responded to by hundreds. 

Bees, it is alleged, recognize the voice of their keeper ; and as 
the queen has the power of uttering a sharp note, which can be 
distinctly heard by a bystander, before the swarming of the hive, 
it is natural to conclude that it is made for some object, and that 
it is also perceptible by the whole community. As regards the 
absurdity of the country practice of ringing a bell, or of striking 
two pieces of metal together, when a swarm is in the air, under 
the impression that the sound attracts the bees to the spot, it is 
hardly to be wished that it should be discontinued, for, however 
discordant it may be, it is yet an honest piece of rural life. Its 
real object, long since lost sight of, was to advertise the neighbors, 
in the event of the swarm taking a distant flight; for, by the bee- 
law of England, a man was allowed to follow his swarm on 
another person’s property, and to secure that which, without a 
notice, the other might appropriate as a lucky windfall. 

The organ of hearing in insects is most probably situated in the 
antennas. 

Fish can hear very distinctly : carp distinguish the sound of a 
bell, and the voice of their keeper, when called to be fed, which 
the author witnessed at a pond containing some carp of an amazing 
size, in the Imperial gardens at Peterhof, near St. Petersburg : a 
similar circumstance is also mentioned with regard to the trunk- 

















THE SENSE OF HEARING. 


227 


fish, in the island of Mauritius. Guana lizards arc said to be 
enticed into traps by whistling to them. 

Birds are endowed with a most susceptible power of hearing ; 
provided most wisely as a means of preservation, with regard to 
their peculiar habits. Obstructed, as their sight must often be, 
By the intervention of branches and long grass, they would other¬ 
wise fall an easy prey ; but the sound of a footstep, or the snapping 
of a twig, excites their immediate alarm, and they insure safety by 
flight. Some birds not only recognize the voice of their master, 
but distinguish its intonation, whether as coaxing them, or as 
calling them to feed. But however keen the faculty in general, 
song-birds must yet possess a much greater development; for they 
not only show an ear for melody, by rising and falling in their 
notes, but they will even pick up an air from a flageolet or an 
organ. The mocking-bird of America is undoubtedly the most 
extraordinary proof of this faculty ; for it will imitate as well 
the songs and cries of other birds, as the sounds of different 
animals. 

Of all birds, the owl has probably the most exquisite sense of 
hearing. The mere examination of the outward part of the organ 
is sufficient to prove that fact with certainty. Dependent on it 
for its means of subsistence—as enabling it to perceive its prey in 
the shades of evening, when its sight, however piercing, can only 
enable it to seize the object, whose slightest motion announces its 
presence—it sails along on its noiseless silken wing, exciting no 
alarm in other things, though it receives it from them. 

Among mammalia, the formation of the ear varies in very many 
cases, according to the habits and peculiar nature of the animal. 
The portion of the ear of the mole assigned for the cognizance of 
sounds passing in the air, is less perfect than those which, deeper 
seated, receive the impression of any sound or vibration proceed¬ 
ing from the earth. The beaver has the power, when diving, to 
fold its ear backwards on its head ; and the water-shrew, for the 
same purpose, has three distinct flaps, which close the orifice, in 
the same manner that many diving and burrowing animals are 



















228 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


furnished with flaps to the nose, by which they close the entrance 
to all injurious bodies. 

The hippopotamus, which remains for lengthened periods beneath 
the surface of the water, is also provided with a valve-like appar¬ 
atus. Hares and rabbits, which squat close on the ground, and 
which might be more readily discovered were any projecting point 
of their bodies to be visible, fold their ears flat backwards. In 
all, this sense is remarkably keen, and with horses it is only 
exceeded by that of the smell : they hear sounds and are restless 
long before the rider can perceive an animal or a human being in 
the distance. The carrier horses in Switzerland hear the fall of 
an avalanche, and warn their masters of the danger, bv their ter- 
ror, and by refusing to advance, and even by turning in an 
opposite direction. The acute sensibility of this organ is some¬ 
what obstructed by the bushy hairs which grow in the outer 
sheath, and thus horse-dealers cut them out from horses they have 
for sale, in order that .sound's, striking on the nerves with greater 
force, may, by exciting the animals, give them a more lively 
appearance. 

The flight of the bat, like that of the owl, is perfectly noiseless; 
and its ear, equally acute, detects the slightest humming of 
an insect, at a distance of several feet; and while it catches 
such as are in flight, it touches none which have settled or are 
silent. 

The soft and noiseless tread of all the feline race, so beautifully 
adapted to their peculiar habits and wants, enables them to steal 
on their prey without a sound or rustle to disturb their sense of 
security. 

In all animals, the outward membrane, or sheath of the ear, is 
most wonderfully adapted to their natures in its construction and 
defences, varying in every race, and perfect in all. 

Sound affects animals in different ways : birds and herbivorous 
animals are alarmed or fly at the rustle of a branch ; and the 
same circumstance only excites the attention of the carnivorous 
species, as proceeding probably from some unwary object of their 



























THE SENSE OP HEARING. 220 

prey. By night, the ear exercises the most important functions, 
giving warning of approaching danger, and governing many of 
the actions of the bod)’. The least sound breaking upon the still¬ 
ness of the night, under whose mysterious gloom the feelings of 
doubt and fear are doubly excitable, strikes with increased force 
on the ear, which, in its sense of perception, compensates to the 
mind for the withdrawal of sight. 

The dog, keenly alive to the merest rustle, distinguishes between 
the familiar footstep and that of intrusion, however distant. His 
ferocity increases with his vigilance, and he constitutes himself 
the guardian of the house of his master, who, confident of his 
sagacity, passes the hours of sleep in conscious security. It is 
recorded of a dog, that in the dead of night it heard a cry for 
help, and flying to the spot, succeeded in extricating his oavii 
master, then in a state of intoxication, from a pool of water into 
which he had fallen. The distance was so great that there was 
no other means of accounting for the sound reaching the animal, 
than by supposing that the earth acted as a conductor to the cries 
which were uttered on a level with its surface, and that the ear of 
the dog lay close to the ground ; but there is yet the remarkable 
point of the power of perception, which enabled the animal, per¬ 
haps, to recognize his master’s voice, and certainly to distinguish 
the nature of the cry. 

A bird-catcher, wishing to increase his stock of bullfinches, 
took out his caged bird and his limed twigs, and placed them in 
such a situation of hedge and bush as he judged favorable to his 
success. It so happened that his own bird was one of education, 
such as is usually termed a piping bullfinch. In the first instance, 
a few’ accidentally thrown-out natural notes, or calls, had attracted 
three or four of his kindred feather, wdiich had now taken their 
station not far distant from the cage. There they stood in doubt 
and curiosity, and presently, moving inch by inch, and hop by hop 
towards him and the fatal tw’igs, they again became stationary 
and attentive. It was in this eager and suspended moment that 
the piping bullfinch set up the old country-dance of Nancy Dawson. 














230 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

Away flew every astounded bullfinch as fast as wings could move, 
in such alarm and confusion as bullfinches could feel and they 
only can venture to describe. 

Captain Alexander, in his “ Transatlantic Sketches,” says : “ I 
have seen the cobra di capello, or hooded snake of India, caught 
in my garden ; have watched the snake-charmer, with feathered 
turban, sitting beside a hole, under the hedge of prickly pear, and 
piping on a rude musical instrument made from a gourd, and a 
bit of looking-glass in front of it; unlike 1 the deaf adder/ the 
head of the cobra would soon appear above the ground, as if 
listening to the wild strains, and his eye attracted by the dazzling 
glass. An assistant would be ready to catch him behind the neck, 
would draw forth his yellow and writhing length, and, without 
extracting the poisonous fangs, would slip him into a covered 
basket, muttering the usual curse of ‘Huttere!’ Next day the 
snake-charmer would return, place his basket on the ground, sit 
on his haunches before it, and pipe; the lid would rise, and the 
subdued snake come forth, partly coil himself up, and move his 
head to the music, and ever and anon display his spectacled hood, 
or hiss when the charmer put forward his hand. The assistant 
would go behind and hold the reptile by the tail, when he could 
do no injury ; but if a fowl were thrown to him, he killed it in a 
moment.” 

A piano-forte having been sent for the purpose to the menagerie 
in Exeter ’Change, the higher notes hardly attracted the elephant’s 
notice, but the low notes roused his attention. The effect of the 
higher notes upon the lion in the same place,, was only to excite 
his attention, which was very great; he remained silent and 
motionless: but no sooner were the flat notes sounded, than he 
sprang up, attempted to break loose, lashed his tail, and seemed 
so furious and enraged as to frighten many of the spectators. 
This was attended with the deepest yells, which ceased with the 
music. 

At Paris, some curious experiments, almost of the same nature, 
were made, of the power of music on the sensibility of the elephant. 


I 



































THE SENSE OF SIGHT. 231 

A band of music was sent to play in a gallery extending round 
the upper part of the stall in which two elephants were kept. A 
perfect silence was procured. Some provisions of which they 
were fond were given them to engage their attention, and the 
musicians began to play. The music no sooner struck their ears, 
than they ceased from eating, and turned in surprise to observe 
whence the sounds proceeded. At the sight of the gallery, the 
orchestra, and the assembled spectators, they discovered con¬ 
siderable alarm, as though they imagined there was some design 
against their safety ; but the music soon overpowered their fears, 
and all other emotions became completely absorbed in their 
attention to it. Music of a bold and wild expression excited in 
them turbulent agitation, expressive either of violent joy or of 
rising fury. A soft air, performed on the bassoon, evidently 
soothed them to gentle and tender emotions, while a gay and 
lively air moved them to demonstrations of highly sportive sensi¬ 
bility ; and other variations in the music produced corresponding 
changes in their emotions. 

©be Sense of Sight. 

s, -v That beautiful instrument, the eye, 

so artistically contrived that the most 
ingenious workman could not imagine 
an improvement of it, becomes still 
more interesting and more wonderful, 
^ when we find that its conformation is 

■ fOfvaried with the different necessities of 
|| il each animal. If the animal prowls by 

Wf f night, we see the opening of the pupil, 

S v and the power of concentration in the 

eye increased. If an amphibious ani¬ 
mal has occasionally to dive into the water — with the change 
of the medium through which the rays pass, there is an accom¬ 
modation in the condition of the humors, and the eye partakes 
of that both of the quadruped and the fish. Again, in fishes 

• 

1 

i 

1 

1 
















232 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


whose eye is washed by the clement in which they move, all 
the exterior apparatus is unnecessary, and is dismissed; but in 
the crab, and especially in that species which lies in mud, the 
very peculiar and horny prominent eye would be quite obscured 
were it not for a peculiar provision. There is a little brush of 
hair above the eve, against which the eye is occasionally raised 
to wipe olf what may adhere to it. The form of the eye, and the 
particular mode in which it is moved, and the coarseness of 
the instrument, compared with the parts in the same organ in the 
higher class of animals, make the mechanism of eyelids and of 
lachrymal glands unsuitable. 

The first traces of the perception of light are found in the 
lowest scale of animal life, as in the infusoria and polypi. In 
these, the power of sight, or rather the sense of perception, seems 
to be spread over the whole surface of the body, as is the case 
with many blind persons, who, by some peculiar properties of the 
skin, can distinguish between a dazzling and a gloomy light. 
Colhoun has remarked, that on the eyes being fully closed, the 
sensation of light is experienced by the skin of the face, particu¬ 
larly in the region of the forehead; and indeed, if we turn our 
faces to the light, and pass the hand up and down before the 
closed eyes, a remarkable difference is perceptible ; and, as if by 
an adaptation to the circumstance, or that really a greater degree 
of sensibility is thrown over the body when the eyes arc closed, 
people moving about or groping their way in the dark, commonly 
shut their eyes. The skin is not absolutely opaque; for the 
gleam of the sun penetrates through the closed eyelids, and even 
the sides and joints of the fingers. 

Sight is here at its lowest point—a mere perception or con¬ 
sciousness of light, similar in every respect to that which exists in 
snails, as has been proved experimentally by Mielzynsky. He 
held a pointed instrument in the direction of their feelers, but 
they paid no attention to it, whether bright or dark, till they ran 
against it, and yet they are capable of seeing. He shut a number 
of them into a tin box, in the lid of which two tubes were inserted, 






























THE SENSE OP SIGHT. 233 

the one covered with tin on the top, and the other with glass 5 
and, having compelled the snails to climb upwards by pouring 
water into the box, they all crawled up the tube pervious to the 
light; but if he deprived them of their feelers, they took to either 
tube indiscriminately. Thus, snails can distinguish light and dark, 
but not objects. 

The proteus and the mole, which live in darkness, have such 
imperfect organs of sight, that, instead of seeking the light, their 
great object is to avoid it; but yet they possess the power of 
distinguishing objects and of moving towards them. The proteus, 
for instance, will snap at a small fish passing within its reach, but 

ill leave untouched matters which do not concern it for food. 

It is most probable that in tliis and similar instances, the deficiency 
in the powers ot one sense is compensated for by an additional 
organ in others. Leeches, notwithstanding their imperfect vision, 
perceive people bathing; and a species inhabiting the land in the 
island of Ceylon, comes forth in wet seasons and attacks any one 
who may remain stationary for only a few minutes. 

The form of the eye is globular: it varies considerably in its 
disposition, being chiefly more or less protected by the adjoining- 
parts, and often, as in the snail and some other of the Crustacea, 
attached to a stalk or pedicle. The eyes of the chameleon arc 
extremely prominent, and arc capable of moving in different and 
separate directions at the same time, so that the animal can com¬ 
mand a large range on either side; a remarkable provision, which, 
compensating for its natural inertness and slowness of motion, 
enables it to seize any insect coming within its reach. Many 
insects have a plurality of eyes, disposed in such various direc¬ 
tions that they are warned of danger from all sides. 

Most birds, particularly those of prey, are furnished with a 
nictating membrane, which, in time of need, closes over the eye, 
like a vail, subduing equally the dazzling rays of the sun, and its 
powerful reflections from other objects. Their eyes take in a 
great portion of the foremost part of the head, and, by their size, 
their position, and their strongly arched horny tunicle, they are 













234 


• THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


able, as is peculiarly the case with the predatory classes, to em¬ 
brace an immense range of vision, and even to distinguish their 
prey from a considerable height. The majestic eagle sweeps along 
with daring flight, braves the rays of the unclouded sun, and soars 
in the highest regions of the atmosphere ; from thence his piercing- 
eye commands a vast expanse, and descries from afar, in the 
profundity of the valley, perched upon the tree, or hovering in 
the air, the victim he has marked for his prey: lie darts upon it 
like the lightning, seizes it with irresistible talons, and, exulting 
in his victory, transports it to the retired rock or deserted plain, 
tears it in pieces and devours it. 

It is not possible to look upon him without discerning in his 
external form the supreme force, the energetic springs, the fiery 
rage of formidable majesty. Has not his sparkling eye all the 
fire of a flash of lightning? Who but he dares to fix a steady 
look on the dazzling orb of day ? Examine every eye downward 
to that of the mole. Where is to be found that penetrating, firm, 
and rapid glance which seizes the whole horizon at once ? IIow 
admirable is this relation between the eyes and the light! 

The aquatic birds have a small eye, and in the divers it is even 
still more reduced, and protected by a movable film. These 
distinctions are remarkable, and most appropriately contrived; 
for, unlike the land bird, which either has to discover its food 
from afar, or to distinguish it among other substances covering 
the earth’s surface, it readily perceives objects moving and floating- 
in the water, and requires only a means of shielding the organ 
from the action of the water. 

The eyes of birds which fly abroad and seek their prey by night, 
are so incapable of confronting the light, that they have only the 
full power of sight at twilight, and the pupil is then so distended 
that it admits an unusual proportion of the rays of light; a con¬ 
struction precisely similar to that which is found among animals 
of the feline species. In these as well as among the other carni¬ 
vores, the pupil appears like a perpendicular line, by which means 
the sight is more concentrated, and is remarkably keen in moments 











MEMORY. 


235 


of excitement and when the animal collects itself for the fatal 
spring upon its prey. 

Sight assumes a higher rank in the scale, as soon as it is sus¬ 
ceptible of color. It is supposed that serpents distinguish their 
keepers by the color of their clothing. Oxen and turkeys have 
a violent antipathy against anything red, and sometimes it excites 
them to fury. It is highly probable that all the higher orders 
of animals distinguish between, and have preference for, certain 
colors, and it is certain that in their younger age they are 
attracted by bright ones. 

$$ltntorg. 

That many animals have recollec¬ 
tion and memory, is without doubt. 
Bees revisit their old haunts, the trees 
and the flowers where they have been 
used to find honey ; they recognise 
their own hive among many others, 
returning to it in their homeward 
flight in a direct line, and never hesi- 
tating between it and the surrounding 
ones. It is highly remarkable that 
they know their hive more from its 
locality than from its appearance, for if it be removed during 
their absence, and a similar one be substituted, they enter the 
strange one. If the position of a hive be changed, the bees 
for the first day take no distant flight till they have thoroughly 
scrutinized every object in its neighborhood; and it is asserted 
by Kirby and Spexce, that the queen bee does the same thing, 
making several probationary flights before the swarming of the 
hive, as if to select the proper spot. They also mention the cir¬ 
cumstance of a number of bees having been attracted in the 
autumn to some honey which had been placed in a window, and 
of their visiting the same spot in the ensuing spring in search of 
it again. The mason-bee contrives holes as receptacles for its 


















236 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

young, in which it lays up their food ; and it a hole be closed up 
during its absence, it searches for some time along the wall, after 
its return, without noticing other holes, and having found it, it 
removes the obstruction and continues its work; a clear proof 
that these bees can distinguish between their own holes and those 
of others. 

Stickney relates a remarkable instance of memory in some 
bees, which, having taken possession of a hollow place beneath a 
roof, and being removed into a hive, continued for several years 
to return and occupy the same hole with their swarms. Bees 
certainly recognise those persons who feed them and attend to 
them, and the same thing has been noticed in spiders. Some ants, 
which had been turned out of a sugar-case, through whose key¬ 
hole they had found an entrance, returned again in the same 
manner. Swallows and storks, on their return in the spring, 
reoccupy their old nests; and birds which have been fed during 
severe weather, will present themselves for the same purpose in 
the ensuing year. 

Pigeons, cats, dogs, and horses return to their former homes 
from the greatest distances. Goats, sheep, and swine find their 
way to their respective enclosures, and horses select their indi¬ 
vidual stalls from a hundred others; they recognise their former 
comrades, their grooms, their riders, and the inns they had been 
fed at, after an interval of years ; they distinguish between those 
who have attended or misused them, and, remembering the pain 
of an operation, they strike out at the farrier who performed it. 
Thus, also, the poodle dog conceals itself from the person who 
has clipped it. 

The dog remembers his master and the members of his family 
after an absence of years, and the persons of those who have 
ill-treated it. I have seen a mastiff shrink habitually from an old 
hen that had once inflicted a tweak upon his nose. It is related 
of a dog which M. D’Obsonville took with him from Pondicherry 
on a journey of upwards of three hundred miles, through a country 
hardly intersected by a road, and which occupied three weeks to 











MEMO RY. 


237 


traverse, that, having lost its master, it returned at once to Pon¬ 
dicherry. 

Similar instances of the power of memory, and of finding their 
way through strange districts, are of daily occurrence, and it is 
astonishing with what speed they return to their homes from 
remote distances. The dog of an officer who fell in battle in 
Poland, found its way back to his estate near Leipzig in an 
inconceivably short space of time. The dog of a little Savoyard 
being sold and carried to Rome, was shut up for safety; but it 
soon succeeded in making its escape, and reached its former home 
after a few days, in a most emaciated state. The hunted fox, 
driven by the chase far beyond its accustomed haunts, finds its 
way back to them in the course of a few hours. 

Lindley Murray states in his Memoirs, that, on visiting, as a 
boy, the elephants which were then kept at the Queen’s stables, 
Buckingham House, he withdrew from one of them, with his cane, 
a part of the hay which it was collecting on the floor with its 
proboscis. The animal was displeased, and the keeper told him 
it wonld never forget the injury. Returning in about six weeks 
after with some friends, he found that though some hundreds of 
people had been there since his first visit, the animal soon 
recognised him. He made no attempt to teaze it, and had no 
conception of any concealed resentment. On a sudden, however, 
when he was within the supposed reach of its proboscis, it threw 
it towards him with such violence, that had he not by an active 
effort thrown himself aside, he would probably have been killed, 
or have received some material injury. 

Mr. Hartley narrates that, passing by a flock of sheep in the 
Isle of Egina, he asked the shepherd if lie gave names to his 
sheep, and if they obeyed him when he called them by their 
names. He bade him call one ; ho did so, and it instantly left its 
pasturage and its companions, and ran up to him with signs of 
pleasure, and with a prompt obedience which he had never before 
witnessed in any other animal. Mr. Wilderspix says lie fre¬ 
quently witnessed in Cumberland, and other mountainous districts, 


























238 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

an illustration of the parable that the sheep know the good 
shepherd’s voice. When the sun is about to set, the shepherd’s 
boy advances along the foot of a chain of mountains, and, giving 
a signal by a peculiar call or whistle, the flocks, which were 
scattered like spots of snow over those stupendous heights, begin 
to move simultaneously, and, collecting as they pour down the 
steep descent, approach him in order, without leaving one solitary 
straggler. 

How wonderful is that instinct by which the bird of passage 
performs its annual migration! But still more wonderful is it, 
when the bird, after its voyage of thousands of miles has been 
performed, and new lands visited, returns to the precise window 
or eaves where the summer before it first enjoyed existence. And 
yet such is unquestionably the fact. Four brothers had watched 
with indignation the felonious attempt of a sparrow to possess 
itself of the nest of a house-martin, in which lay its young brood 
of unfledged young ones. They attempted to take summary 
vengeance with blowguns, but their well-meant endeavors brought 
destruction on the hapless nest, and the young birds came to the 
ground. Being placed in the open window of an unoccupied 
room, the parent birds, after their first terror was over, did not 
appear disconcerted by the change of situation, but hourly fed 
them as usual, and testified, by their unwearied twitter of pleasure, 
the satisfaction and confidence they felt. There the young birds 
were duly fledged, and from that window began their flight, and 
entered upon life for themselves. The next spring, with the 
reappearance of the martins, came four, which familiarly flew 
into the chamber, visited all the walls, and expressed their recog¬ 
nition by the most clamorous expressions of joy. They were 
without question the very birds that had been bred there the 
preceding year! 















IMAGINATION — DREAMS. 


239 


Imagination — Cl reams. 

Imagination is the ideal represen¬ 
tation of circumstances or objects, 
making them to pass before the mind 
as if reflected in a mirror with all the 
force of reality, and enabling it to form 
immediate conclusions, and to act upon 
them. This power is shared by ani¬ 
mals, and, if analysed, will be found 
to be the instigator and exciting cause 
ol many of their actions and impulses. Thus, the yearning for 
'former homes, and the longing for the chase, are feelings or 
desires raised by the recollection of pleasures enjoyed, acting on 
the mind, or seat of intelligence. It also shows itself in many of 
the minor occurrences of life. A dog, which refused dry bread, 
and was in the habit of receiving from his master little morsels 
dipped in the gravy of the meat remaining in the plate, snapped 
eagerly after dry bread if he saw it rubbed round the plate ; and 
asi by way of experiment, this was repeatedly done till its hunger 
was satisfied, it was evident that the imagination of the animal 
conquered, for the time, its faculties of smell and taste. It is even 
thus with the enjoyments which man acquires to himself, where 
the imagination seasons and exalts them, and even in many 
instances actually produces them. It shows itself, however, in 
the most marked and spontaneous form, in dreams, in playfulness, 
and in the home-sickness. 

The organs of sense and motion are at rest when sleep asserts 
its power over the frame; the doors of communication with the 
outward world are closed, and the soul, cut off from all cotfi- 
munion with material things, is, as it were, isolated, and in a state 
of passive existence. The powers of the soul remain without the 
necessary consciousness of outward things; and it is only incited 
by them, through the medium of its own activity, when the senses 
themselves are sunk in the deepest sleep. 























240 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


It is impossible to say at what stage of organized matter, 
dreams, as the creations of the thus isolated soul, begin. Com¬ 
parisons are abundant; the lower animals are dreamers, and their 
lives somnambulism. If we consider this proposition as a meta¬ 
phor, it is still a comparison. Life, in the lower order of animals, 
is different in character to that of the upper. The limited de¬ 
velopment of the nervous system, and of the organs of sense, 
proclaims a more confined and benighted range of perception, a 
feeble sensibilitv, and dimly-shadowed wants. The consciousness 
of outward things is faint, the feeling of self-identity obscure, and 
the power of observation is restricted to the recognition of its 
own species. The principle of life is monotonous, without rhythm 
or action, and sleeping and waking are almost identical. Dream¬ 
ing is, therefore, the consequence of the inward principle without 
the agency of the dormant senses and the organs of motion. 

Crocodiles dream ; and in birds, and the mammiferous animals, 
the phenomenon is remarkably perceptible. When the impres¬ 
sions of the dream assume a particularly vigorous and distinct 
character, they affect the slumbering voice and limbs, and thus prove 
most satisfactorily and clearly that animals really do dream, besides 
affording the strongest grounds for the assertion that animals 
possess an inward sense, analogous to the faculty of the soul. 

Among birds, the stork, the canary, the eagle, and the parrot; 
and among the mammalia, the elephant, the horse, and the dog, 
are excited in their dreams. The hound betrays his dream by a 
hoarse, suppressed bark, and by a convulsed movement of the 
limbs. Dogs are prone to dream ; and then they may be observed 
to move their feet; they make efforts to bark, agitate themselves 
as if thev were hunting, or become excited till the hair rises on 
their flanks, and the skin becomes clammy; vet when awake thev 
scarcely ever sweat, but cool themselves by panting and hanging 
out their tongue. 

Bennet noticed that water-birds moved their legs in their 
sleep, as if in the act of swimming ; and IIennah heard the hyrax 
utter a faint crv. 









PLAYFULNESS. 


241 


^lawfulness. 

In the waking hours the influence 
of the imagination manifests itself 
by a playfulness of manner, and an 
exuberance of the animal spirits. 

The animal in its sportive moments 
abandons itself to a feeling in which 
its whole being seems to be concen¬ 
trated in the performance of some 
one of its passions, whether of joy or mischief, defiance or fear. 
Erdl, who has bestowed great attention to the habits of the 
Crustacea, says that he has seen a species of crab play with little 
round stones, and empty shells, as cats do with a cork, or small 
ball. Dogs, particularly young ones, are carried away with the 
impulse, rolling over, and chasing each other in circles, seizing 
and shaking objects as if in anger, and enticing even their masters 
to join in their games. 

Horses, in freedom, gallop hither and thither, snort and paw 
the air, advance to their groom, stop suddenly short, and again 
dash off at speed. A horse belonging to one of the large brewing 
establishments in London, at which a great number of pigs were 
kept, used frequently to scatter the grains on the ground with his 
mouth, and as soon as a pig came within his reach, he would seize 
it, without injury, and plunge it into the water-trough. 

The hare will gambol round in circles, tumble over, and fly 
here and there. Brehn witnessed one which played the most 
singular antics with twelve others, coursing round them, feigning 
death, and again springing up, seemed to illustrate the old saying 
of “ mad as a March hare.” The same thing occurs with rabbits, 
and many others of the rodentia ; and on warm days fish may be 
seen gamboling about in shoal water. Carp, in early morning, 
while the mist still hangs on the water, wallow in the shallows, 
16 




















242 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


exposing their broad backs above the surface. W hales, as de¬ 
scribed by Scoresby, arc extremely frolicsome, and in their play 
leap twenty feet out of the water. 

Small birds chase each other about in play, but perhaps the 
conduct of the crane and the trumpeter is the most extraordinary. 
The latter stands on one leg, hops about in the most eccentric 
manner, and throws somersets. On account of these drolleries it 
is sometimes called the mad bird. The crane expands its wings, 
runs round in circles, leaps, and throwing little stones and pieces 
of wood in the air, endeavors to catch them again, or pretends to 
avoid them as if afraid. Water-birds, such as ducks and geese, 
dive after each other, and cleave the surface of the water with 
outstretched neck and Happing wings, throwing an abundant 
spray around. 

Deer often engage in a sham battle, or a trial of strength, by 
twisting their horns together, and pushing for the mastery. All 
animals that pretend violence in their play, stop short of exer¬ 
cising it. The dog takes the greatest precaution not to injure by 
his bite ; and the ourang outang, in wrestling witli his keeper, 
attempts to throw him, and makes feints of biting him. Some 
animals carry out in their play the semblance of catching their 
prey; young cats, for instance, leap after every small and moving 
object, even to the leaves strewed by the autumn wind ; they 


crouch, and steal forward ready for 
the spring, the body quivering and 
the tail vibrating with emotion, they 
bound on the moving leaf, and again 
watch, and again spring forward at 
another. Not only young cats romp 
with each other, but young lions do 
the same. Rengger saw young jagu¬ 
ars and cuguars playing with round 
substances like kittens. Young bears 



sport with each other, and are said to play hide and seek with 
their dams. 






















HOME-SICKNESS. 243 

Young lambs, as well as birds, eol- 

Birds of the Pie kind, are the anal- 

play, and mimicry. There is a story 

told of a tame magpie, which was seen ' " PP?Pfjffllfr 

busily employed in a garden, gather- 0?Lmia 

ing pebbles, and with much solemnity, Jppjlgf 

and a studied air. dropping them into ^ 
a hole, about eighteen inches deep, ' . 

made to receive a post. After drop- 

triumphantly, and set off for another. 

On examining the spot a poor toad 

was found in the hole, which the magpie was stoning for his 
amusement. 

ilomc-Sidurtss. 

This feeling is undoubtedly shared 
by animals in its fullest intensity, f 

both as regards locality and com- '^'v'' 

panionship of its own species, as well 
as in the love for their masters, or 
old protectors. Perhaps it is strong- 
est and most observable in the higher 
orders of animals, but there is hardly 
a class which cannot be pointed to '“yy CW 

as not possessing it in some degree. 

Pigeons, dogs, cats, and horses, when removed from their former 
homes, give repeated and daily instances of the fact. It crushes 














244 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

and overwhelms the faculties of the mind, and prostrates the ener¬ 
gies of the body. Thus many birds, when encaged, become so 
entirely spirit-broken, that they refuse all nourishment, pine for a 
few days, and die. • 

This is particularly the case with song-birds ; and the nightin¬ 
gale, if caught late in the spring, and when it has already paired, 
is hardly ever known to survive. The rapacious birds, though of 
bolder tempers, become equally sullen and indifferent to food, 
and, but for their extraordinary powers of endurance, would also 
soon perish. If the howling monkey is caught when full-grown, 
it becomes melancholy, refuses all food, and dies in a few weeks ; 
it is also the same with the puma ; and Burdach states that death 
sometimes ensues so immediately, that it can only arise from a 
sudden and violent pressure on the mind. 

At the periods of migration, imprisoned birds become extremely 
restless, although they are supplied with abundance of food, and 
are secluded from any influence of the temperature; but they 
resign themselves and become contented when the time has passed. 
In multitudes of instances where identity has been clearly estab¬ 
lished, it has been proved that these wanderers return every year 
to the same neighborhood, nay, even to the same spot in it, which 
they had before haunted. We have almost daily instances brought 
before us of dogs and cats being taken away in carriages at night, 
to a very considerable distance from their homes, to which they 
nevertheless find the means of returning. There is the well-known 
story of the ass, which swam ashore from a vessel shipwrecked at 
the Point de Gal, and finding its way back to Gibraltar, a dis¬ 
tance of more than two hundred and fifty miles, in a few days, 
sought out immediately its former stall, from which it had been 
embarked. 

The desire of remaining constant to one neighborhood is spread 
through the whole animal kingdom, and there are but few species 
which pass a life of continuous movement and change. They 
change their quarters with reluctance, and never undertake a dis¬ 
tant journey but in company with many others of their own 














HOME-SICKNESS. 245 

species, wliich seems to reconcile them to the necessity. Bnt 
these migrations are only periodical, and they return to their 
former homes in immense numbers, as soon as their instinct 
teaches them that the necessity which drove them forth, no longer 
exists. It is thus with the reindeer, in Lapland, which, tormented 
by flies, pass off in herds from the interior down to the coast. 

This attachment to a peculiar locality is remarkably conspicuous 
in fish, which, at the spawning season, return to the same spots 
where they themselves were produced. Salmon have been caught 
and marked, and for many recurring years have been found again 
in the same waters ; facing obstacles almost insurmountable in 
order to achieve their purpose. 

The wearied horse pricks its ears, and seems to gain new ener¬ 
gies as it advances towards its home; and if ill or injured, it 
recovers much sooner in its own stall, and with its accustomed 
companions, than in a strange place, where it becomes restless and 
cheerless. Draught-horses, which, besides standing in neighboring 
stalls, have been in the habit of working together, possess the 
greatest attachment for each other, and if one be fixed in its 
traces by its driver, the other spontaneously places itself by its 
side, and they willingly share their work ; but if separated, they 
lose their appetite, work less freely, and make efforts to get 
together. Such and similar affections characterise domesticated 
animals, which can only be reconciled to change by kindness and 
gentle usage. 

Lord Monboddo relates the following singular anecdote of a 
serpent: “ I am well informed of a tame serpent in the East 
Indies, which belonged to the late Dr. Yigot, once kept by him 
in the suburbs of Madras. This serpent was taken by the French, 
when they invested Madras, in the late war, and was carried to 
Pondicherry in a close carriage. But from thence, he found his 
way back again to his old quarters, though Madras was above 
one hundred miles distant from Pondicherry.” 












246 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

foperieittt. 

The expectation of the recurrence of 
an event is the impression of a former 
circumstance, which, from certain 
causes and a resemblance of certain 
points, we arc again led to entertain 
and to expect to see fulfilled ; the 
former is caused by the memory, and 
the latter by the understanding ; for 
the imagination, by a comparison of 
the past with the present, prepares the mind to receive a certain 
conclusive resul t. 

This application of experience is traceable in the lowest orders 
of life. The razor shell-fish buries itself deep in the sand when 
left by the ebbing tide, and is attracted to the surface by a little 
salt being dropped into its hole. A movement in the sand 
immediately follows, and presently half the fish becoming visible, 
the fisherman draws it out with an iron prong ; but should he fail 
in seizing it or relax his hold, the fish rapidly disappears, and will 
not rise again, although more salt be thrown to it. It seems thus 
to be aware of its danger, for it will come forth on the fresh 
application of salt, should it not have been touched in the first 
instance. 

Borlase says that lie saw the attack of a lobster on an oyster. 
Lobsters, like most other Crustacea, feed principally on shell-fish, 
which they extract with their claws, and in the instance in ques¬ 
tion the oyster closed its shell as often as the lobster attempted to 
insert itself; after many failures, the lobster took a sm^ll stone, 
which it placed between the shells as soon as they Avere separated, 
and then devoured the fish. Monkeys in the West Indies have 
been seen to resort to the same device. Crickets, if disturbed, 
withdraw quickly into their holes, and reappear again soon ; but 
if the disturbance be repeated, they remain altogether Avithin them. 















EXPERIENCE. 247 

A fox escaped from a trap in which it may have been caught, 
remembers the danger, and is not again to be deceived. Birds 
are equally suspicious. The quail which lias once been enticed 
into the net by the call-pipe, will not allow itself to be caught 
again; but some, like the redbreasts and titmice, are not so 
readily alarmed. 

A wasp, encumbered by the struggles of a large fly, which it 
had caught, bit its wings off, and then bore it away with ease : the 
same with a sand wasp, which attempted to draw a small moth 
into its hole, but being prevented by the wings of the insect, it 
separated them and the legs from the body, and thus secured it. 

Duges saw a spider which had seized a bee by the back and 
effectually prevented it from taking flight ; but the legs being at 
liberty, it dragged the spider along, which presently suspended it 
by a thread from its web, leaving it to ‘dangle in the air till it was 
dead, when it was drawn up and devoured. 

The use of experience becomes more marked and extensive with 
age, the higher we ascend in the scale of life. Thus old birds are 
not so easily approached within gun-shot as young ones ; old foxes 
are less easily caught in traps, and old stags show more cunning. 

On newly-discovered islands, the birds and animals have no fear 

of man, and the seals and other amphibia do not move at his 

» 

approach ; but a very short experience teaches them in what their 
safety consists. In tracts where the art of trapping has never 
been practised, the animals are at first caught in numbers, but by 
degrees they become more wary, and the hunter is compelled to 
use greater stratagems. In woods which are much hunted, the 
game is more shy and vigilant, while it seems fully to comprehend 
the sanctity of a preserve. 

It appears that animals place in a reasonable connection things 
■ which take place at stated periods and in regular succession. 
Pigeons, poultry, and even carp will flock to an accustomed spot 
at the sound of a bell, because food has always been thrown to 
them at such a signal. The pigeons at Venice are a remarkable 
instance of this, and, indeed, go a step further, for they anticipate. 


• 









248 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

The square of St. Mark is the resort of a large number of these 
birds, which occupy every hole and corner of the ornamental 
architecture of the cathedral and the Doge’s palace, owning no 
master, and picking up their living on the square and the adjoin¬ 
ing quay, the only open spots in the city. Some individual living 
in the square has been in the habit, for a length of time, of scat¬ 
tering grain at a particular spot at two o’clock, previous to which 
hour the birds assemble in one place on the cathedral; and as the 
clock strikes, they all take wing and hover round his window in 
small circles, till he appears and distributes a few handfulls of 
food. 

The pointer is wild with joy when it sees the sportsman reach 
his gun, and the little house-dog frolics round his master as he 
takes his hat. The dog which has been punished once for a fault, 
will either slink away or'hide itself if it finds itself detected in 
the repetition of it. Sometimes, from force of habit, an animal 
will take that for granted of wh;ch the form only has been appar¬ 
ently gone through ; thus, if we pretend to fasten a horse to an 
accustomed post, he will remain quietly by its side ; or if we go 
through the action of throwing a stick into the water, a dog will 
plunge in as if to fetch it. 

Animals arc prompt at using their experience in reference to 
things from which they have suffered pain or annoyance. Grant 
mentions an ourang-outang which, having had, when ill, some 
medicine administered to it in an egg, could never be induced to 
touch one afterwards, notwithstanding its previous fondness for 
them. A tame fox has been cured from stealing eggs and poultry, 
by giving them to him scalding hot from the saucepan. Le 
Vaillaint’s monkey was extremely fond of brandy, but could 
never be prevailed on to touch it again after a lighted match had 
been applied to some it was drinking. 

Two carriage-horses which made a point of stopping at the foot 
of every hill, and refused to proceed in spite of every punishment, 
were considered beyond cure, but it was suggested at last that 
several horses should be attached to the back of the carriage, and, 















EXPERIENCE. 249 

being put into a trot, be made to pull the refractory horses back¬ 
wards. The result was perfectly successful, for thenceforth they 
faced every hill at speed, and were not to be restrained till they 
reached the summit. 

A dog which had been beaten while some musk was held to its 
nose, always fled away whenever it accidentally smelled the drug, 
and was so susceptible of it, that it was used in some physiological 
experiments to discover whether‘any portion of musk had been 
received by the body through the organs of digestion. Another 
dog, which had been accidentally burned with a lucifer match, 
became angry at the sight of one, and furious if the act of lighting 
it was feigned. 

There arc so many instances recorded of even higher degrees of 
intelligence, that it is impossible to deny that animals arrive at a 
knowledge of cause and effect. Strend, of Prague, had a cat on 
which he wished to make some experiments with an air-pump ; but 
as soon as the creature felt the exhaustion of the air, it rapidly 
placed its foot on the valve, and thus stopped the action. A dog, 
having a great antipathy to the music of a violin, always sought 
to get the bow and to conceal it. The well-known story recorded 
by Plutarch proves the application of accidentally acquired ex¬ 
perience : he says, that a mule, laden with salt, fell accidentally 
into a stream, and having perceived that its load became thereby 
sensibly lightened, adopted the same contrivance afterwards pur¬ 
posely ; and that to cure it of the trick, its panniers were filled 
with sponge, under which when fully saturated it could barely 
stagger. 

Animals turn to account also the experience they derive from 
matters in which they individually have had no share. The more 
wary, which may have seen others either caught or shot, keep 
carefully out of the reach of all risk, as in the well-known case of 
the crows, which avoid the field in which a dead or wounded one 
is fastened, although in the latter case they hover about, attracted 
by its cries, but still out of harm’s reach. Mice, again, however 
numerous, cannot be caught for any length of time in the same 












250 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

description of trap, which they seem to understand and to shun ; 
and where one has been allowed to remain too long, no other will 
enter. Where experience does not exist, suspicion exercises great 
influence, and is not lulled till familiarity with strange objects 
removes the ground of fear. Strings stretched on little sticks 
over new-sown land will keep it free from birds ; and feathers 
hung along gaps in preserves will deter the game from passing 
through them. 

The intelligence is the most remarkable where experience 
seems to lead to the formation of a future plan, and to suit itself 
to circumstances, as in the case of the cow which, having strayed 
into a carelessly open granary, continued its visits by contriving 
to draw the bolt with its horn, till it was found necessarv to 
change the fastening. Such newly-excited actions of the mind 
amount almost to invention. The arctic foxes undermine and 
throw down the poles on which flesh is hung to keep it out of 
their reach. Gleditsch saw a burying-sylph engaged in burying 
the body of a frog through which a stick had been thrust, and 
finding the stick to interfere with the process, set to work and 
buried the stick also. A large garden spider which was con¬ 
structing its web between two fruit-trees, having failed in repeated 
efforts to attach one of the main threads as it wished, made it at 
last fast to a small stone, which it raised so high from the ground 
that ordinary-sized people could pass under it without touching. 

IIalliday mentions a mason-bee, which had built its nest on a 
wall close to a window generally closed with a shutter, but which, 
when thrown back, lay so close to the wall that the nest was 
completely shut in ; to prevent this occurrence, it formed a little 
lump of clay, which hindered the shutter from fitting tight to the 
wall, and which it renewed as often as it was removed. Jesse 
recounts the circumstance of some, rats destroying the bladder 
fastened over the nose of an oil-bottle, and making free with the 
oil by dipping their tails into it and licking it off. Dr. Pelican 
saw some rats engaged in the same manner round the bung-hole 
of a cask of wine. 










EXPERIENCE. 


251 


The same principle of adapting a means to arrive at an end, 
was carried a degree further, because of a foreign agency being 
employed, by the dog which threw stones into a well, and the fox 
w hich dropped them into the neck of a pitcher, in order to get at 
the water. Thus also with the monkey which Deoranppre put 
to the proof, by leaving on a table an open bottle of aniseed- 
brandy, from which the monkey extracted with its fingers and 
tongue as much as it could manage to reach, and then poured 
sand into the bottle till the liquor ran over. 

Cuvier relates the anecdote of an ourang-outang in the Mena¬ 
gerie at Paris, which was in the habit of opening the door leading 
to a dining-room, the lock of which was out of its reach, by 
lowering itself from a rope fastened to the ceiling; to stop which 
the cord was shortened by means of several knots, but the animal 
seeing the reason, and at the same time perceiving that by hanging 
beneath them he drew them tighter by his weight, he climbed 
above them and loosened them with ease. It also unlocked a 
door by trying every key in a bunch till it found the right one; 
and if the lock was too high, it fetched a stool and mounted on it. 
Leuret saw a monkey escape from its cage, run through a gallery 
and bolt the door after it, and then conceal itself in a closet from 
which it first took the key. Cuvier, again, describes a monkey 
that drew out the claws of a cat which had scratched it. Burdach 
had a cat which, when it wished to leave his room, sprung on a 
table standing near the door, and pressing on the handle, managed 
to open it. 

Animals often shape their conduct according to the experience 
they have learned from the acts of other animals. Le Vaillant’s 
monkey, when tired, used to jump on the backs of his dogs for a 
ride; but one of them, objecting to this mode of horsemanship, 
stood still as soon as the monkey had taken its seat, knowing that 
from fear of being left behind and of losing the caravan, it would 
immediately run off to overtake it, when the dog itself followed 
behind to prevent any fresh attempt. The marten will not go 
near a trap if it sees the impression of a man’s footstep on the 












252 


THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 


surrounding soil; and the fox, which recognises a trap, is not to 
be enticed by the bait, but if it sees another animal caught in it, 
it consumes the bait as well as the animal itself. An elephant 
employed in the artillery service in India, perceiving that a 
soldier had fallen from his gun in such a position that the wheels 
must infallibly pass over and crush him, raised them with its trunk 
till the piece had gone over the man without injury. Another 
elephant that was exhibited in London, was made to go through 
a variety of tricks, and among them that of picking up a six¬ 
pence with its trunk; but on one occasion the coin rolled near 
a wall beyond its reach. As the animal was still ordered to get 
it, it paused for a moment as if for consideration, and then, 
stretching forth its trunk to its greatest extent, blew with such 
force on the money that it was driven against the wall, and was 
brought within reach by the recoil. 

An officer in the Bengal army had a very fine and favorite 
elephant, which was supplied daily in his presence with a certain 
allowance of food; but being compelled to absent himself on a 
journey, the keeper of the beast diminished the ration of food, and 
the animal became daily thinner and weaker. When its master 
returned, the elephant exhibited the greatest signs of pleasure; 
the feeding time came, and the keeper laid before it the former 
full allowance of food, which it divided into two parts, consuming 
one immediately, and leaving the other untouched. The officer, 
knowing the sagacity of his favorite, saw immediately the fraud 
that had been practiced, and made the man confess his crime. 

A servant-maid, whose duty it was to wash a little lap-dog, 
walking in her sleep, set about the task ; but the dog not liking 
the untimely bath, escaped into its mistress’s room, and, pulling 
her by the clothes, at last induced her to follow it into the kitchen, 
where she found the maid with the tub and water intended for 
the dos\ 
















COMPUTATION OF TIME. 253 


Computation: of Cirnc. 

The cases in which animals have shown a distinct appreciation 
of the lapse of time, are abundant. Poultry, like the pigeons at 
Yenice, before mentioned, know the exact moment of feeding time ; 
and domestic animals return of their own accord at the stated 
period from their pasture. Robins, and other little birds, will 
come regularly at the hour of breakfast to receive their crumbs 
from the window. An ostrich, at Paris, rang a bell at the door 
of its enclosure when its food was not brought at the usual hour. 

We are so accustomed to the presence of our dogs, that we 
almost cease to notice their actions; but the least intelligent of 
them seem to be perfectly conscious of the arrival of certain 
periods of time. There is the well-recorded story of the New¬ 
foundland dog which took daily a basket with sundry pence in it 
to the baker’s, and brought back the rolls for the family’s break¬ 
fast, but on the Sundays made no effort to move. The race of 
turnspits is almost extinct, as their services have been superseded 
by machinery, but in some places this has not been of long date. 
These dogs knew the roasting-day most distinctly. 

At the Jesuits’ college at Fleche, the cook took one of these 
dogs out of its turn to put it into the wheel of the spit; but the 
animal, giving him a severe bite, ran away, and drove in from the 
yard the dog whose turn it really was. Arago describes some¬ 
thing similar; he saw several dogs at an inn, whose duty it was 
to turn the spit in regular rotation, one of which skulked away, 
and obstinately refused to work, because its turn had not come 
round, but went willingly enough into the wheel after his comrade 
had turned for a few minutes. A dog, which was in the habit of 
accompanying its master from Paris to Charenton, where he spent 
the Sunday with a friend, having been locked up on two successive 
occasions, ran off alone to Charenton on the Saturday evening, 
and waited there for its master. 










254 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

A gentleman writing from Edinburgh, and speaking of the 
Scotch shepherd’s dog, describes it as one of the most intelligent 
of the canine family, as a constant attendant on his master, and 
never leaving him except in the performance of his duty. In some 
districts of Scotland, these animals always accompany them to 
church; some of them are even more regular attendants than 
their masters, for, by an extraordinary computation of time, they 
never fail resorting thither, unless employed in attending their 
charge. To a stranger, their appearance is somewhat remarkable 
in such a spot; and the propriety with which they conduct them¬ 
selves during the service is remarkably singular. 

On one occasion, towards its close, one of the dogs showed an 
anxiety to get away, when his master, for this unmannerly con¬ 
duct, very unceremoniously gave him a kick, which caused him to 
howl and break the peace of the assembly, and, to add to his 
distress, some of his fellow dogs attacked him, as dogs are wont 
to do when they hear one of their species howl. The quarrel 
became so alarming that the precentor was forced to leave his 
seat and use his authority in restoring peace, which was done by 
means of a few kicks. All the time of this disturbance the 
minister seemed very little discomfited, continuing his preaching 
without intermission, which showed that such occurrences were 
not rare. 

In one parish, great complaints were made against the dis¬ 
turbances occasioned during divine service by the quarreling or 
otherwise unmannerly conduct of the dogs, when it was agreed 
that all those who had dogs should coniine them, and not allow 
them to come to church. This did very well for the first Sunday 
or so ; but the dogs, not at all relishing to be locked up on a day 
when they were wont to enjoy themselves, were never to be found 
on the Sunday mornings, to be tied up: they, by some instinct, 
knew the Sunday as well as their masters, and set off before them 
whither they had been in the habit of going on that da}x 

It was now evident to the members of the congregation, that 
this plan would not do ; and another scheme was laid before 








CALCULATION OP NUMBER. 255 

them, which was, to erect a house close to the church, in which 
they might be confined during divine service. This was adopted, 
and a kennel was accordingly built, in which the dogs were 
imprisoned ; but the animals, being more accustomed to freedom 
than to confinement, took this restraint upon their liberty in ill 
part, and set up a most dreadful howling, to the great annoyance 
of the people in the church. They, however, persevered in con¬ 
fining them for a considerable time, thinking the animals would 
get accustomed to their incarceration ; but in this they were 
mistaken, for instead of the howling diminishing, it got worse and 
worse. So it was agreed they should again be set at liberty, 
and have freedom of access to the place of public worship: but 
their manners had been so corrupted that they were with difficulty 
brought even to their former discipline. 

Calculation of $lumtm'. 

There is no doubt that animals possess this power, and although 
it cannot be ascertained whether it is shared by the lower orders; 
yet it is quite clear that higher ones are endowed with it to a 
certain extent. If we remove one, of a litter during its mother’s 
absence, she misses it on her return. A man having found some 
tiger cubs in the jungle, took them up and was bearing them 
away, but finding he was pursued by the tigress, he dropped one, 
and hastened on. Having placed it in safety, she again pursued 
the man, when lie dropped another, which she again bore off, and 
thus continued following the man and redeeming her cubs till she 
had got them all. 

LichtEnberg says that his nightingale could reckon up to three. 
He made the experiment with meal worms, giving it daily three. 
It hopped on its perch to devour them as it took them in succes¬ 
sion from his fingers, and then sprang to the top of its cage. It 
was not from satiety, for if he enticed it by a fourth, it jumped 
down to receive it. 












256 THE ENDOWMENTS OF ANIMALS. 

Birds which kiy a certain number of eggs before they begin to 
sit, are evidently aware wh§n the complement is made ; and hence 
follows one of the most remarkable and mysterious phenomena in 
the whole system of nature, for if we continue to remove one for 
many times in succession, the hen-bird will continue as often to 
deposit another egg, and ceases only when the number is complete. 

This power of producing or of withholding, baffles all conjecture 
and investigation. 

The tricks taught to dogs and pigs, of distinguishing letters 
and numbers, are mere deception, and do not belong to this 
category; an almost inaudible click of the nail, or a private and 
well-understood signal from the master, being the guide to the 
performance. 

This slight review of the perceptions and natural endowments 
of animals, is far less than the subject deserves, but yet, perhaps, 
sufficient to satisfy the most unthinking and skeptical—who regard 
this part of the creation, if they regard it at all, as beneath their 
notice — that each creature, according to its wants and habits, 
is in its structure as complete and perfect as themselves, possess¬ 
ing organs of the most astonishing sensibility and refinement, 
and faculties which, in discrimination and adaptation, approach 
even the powers of reason. If the higher mental qualifications, 
and the greater powers of the understanding—those, namely, of 
generalization, of abstraction, of speculation, of planning, and 
arrangement — are deficient, who can venture to maintain that 
the understanding itself does not exist? If there be a deficiency 
in that stretch of intellect that seeks to fathom the foundation of 
things, and their mutual connection, for their sake alone; to find 
out the reason and the consequence, the cause and the effect; it 
cannot be denied that their actions are regulated by design, and 
that they are even capable of acting beyond the point at which 
their instinct serves them. 

• 











THE COLOSSAL STATUES OF AMUNOPH III. 

« r>HE stupendous ruins of the city of Thebes, extend for 
tv seven miles on both sides of the Nile. Several villages 
* are scattered among these vestiges, and among them, on 
the western bank, is that of Goorna, situated within a grove of 
palm-trees ; beyond it is a plain, which exhibits at present very 
little cultivation, extending to some distance, and bounded by 
desert hills. Amidst the vast levels of this rough and neglected 
plain, are seen the well-known statues of Memnon, sitting, as they 
have done for ages, in grand and mournful solemnity, surrounded 
by the ruins of temples, the desolate but magnificent monuments 
of ancient splendor. They are called, by the natives, Gamy and 
Shamy; words that sound like nicknames to us, but the natives 
have no such association with them. 

The farthest in the view, is that which is known as the vocal 
Memnon.* Thanks to the newly-discovered power of decyphering 

* It was said that when the first rays of the morning sun fell upon this statue, a 
sound was produced like the snapping of a harp string, or of a metallic ring. When 

[ 257 ] 























258 COLOSSAL STATUES OF AMUNOPH III. 

the hieroglyphics, it is ascertained to be the statue of Amunoph III, 
believed to be the Pharaoh of the Exodus, B. C. 1500. The 
other statue has been supposed to be that of his brother, Amun- 
Toonh, but without foundation ; for though lie reigned for a short 
time jointly with Amunoph III, he was deposed by him, and 
excluded from the hieroglyphic lists; Amunoph was not likely, 
therefore, to establish his statue. It is more probable that both 
statues represent the same Pharaoh, as the statues of Remeses II 
are repeated in the pronaos of Aboo-Simbel. The plain is 
bounded by lofty mountains, among which are the valleys of 
Biban, El Malook, and other recesses, full of sepulchral excava¬ 
tions ; whilst the lower part of the rocky heights facing the last, 
are occupied by the village of Goorna. 

The view of these wonders of the plains of Thebes, is taken 
from the upper or southern side of the group. The statues and 
their thrones, but not their pedestals, were originally hewn each 
out of a single stone; but the farthest, the vocal Memnon, having 
suffered disruption, had been restored. The material of these 
colossi is a coarse hard gritstone, slightly stained in some places 
with iron. The height of each is forty-seven feet, without the 
pedestal; but the total height before the accumulation of soil, 
which has buried so much of the pedestal, must have been sixty 
feet above the plain. 

These enormous figures rest where they did at the period of 
their erection, when they formed the entrance of a grand dromos, 
1100 feet in length, to the Temple of Amunoph III. Several 
pairs of statues, scarcely less colossal, originally formed the avenue; 

Cambyses conquered the country, lie came here, and suspecting a trick, caused the 
statue to be broken from the head to the middle of the body, but found nothing. 
Many ancient authors assert that, before this, the sounds uttered the several mysterious 
vowels. The legs of the statue are covered with Greek and Roman inscriptions, 
attesting the miracle. One of these says: “ I, Publius Balbixus, heard the divine 
voice of Memnon. I came at the first hour of the sun’s course, with the empress 
Sabina, the fifteenth year of the Emperor Hadrian.” Of the fact that the statue did 
produce sounds at sunrise, there can be no doubt; but they are supposed to have 
been contrived by the priests, causing a particular species of sonorous stone, placed 
in the lap of the statue, to be struck, producing a ringing sound like brass. 














COLOSSAL STATUES OF AMUNOPH III. 259 

but of the others, little more than fragments of the figures and 
of their pedestals can be traced. Many of the fragments are now 
buried in the alluvial deposit which each successive inundation of 
the Nile leaves ; for at the period of high Nile, the entire plain is 
so flooded that the waters reach the feet of these colossi, and have 
done so annually these 3,300 years; leaving a tribute which lias 
accumulated till the soil has risen seven feet above the level of 
the time of erection. Mr. IIay caused an excavation to be made 
below these two statues, arid ascertained that they rested on a , 
bed of sand retained by a wall of stone. The cartouch of 
Amunoph III has been found upon these statues; but of the 
temple to which the avenue, commencing with these colossi, led, 
a few substructures alone remain to mark the site of what must 
have held a conspicuous rank among the temples of Thebes. 

All the prominent features of these vast statues, are now 
obliterated. The faces have flaked, and fallen off. The massive 
head-dresses, which descend over the breast, have, in their 
angles, preserved the ears. Sculptured for endurance, the severe 
and simple form of the Egyptian statue required the limbs to be 
in close contact with the body, or otherwise supported. Position 
without action, is its characteristic: the legs are united to the 
throne, the arms to the body, and the fore-arms and hands to 
the thighs, on which they rest. The smallest surface possible for 
its volume, is thus presented to the action of Time, who finds 
few weak points in Egyptian art by which to insinuate his 
attacks : whence the marvelous preservation to our day of so 
many of its magnificent remains. This statue may have been seen 
by Moses, for it was erected three-and-thirty centuries ago, by 
that Pharaoh in whose reign the Israelites were led forth by the 
great lawgiver from their bondage in Egypt. 

The sides of the thrones are similarly ornamented with hiero¬ 
glyphics, in which the dominion of the sovereigns over Upper and 

Lower Egypt is supposed to be typified by figures of the god 

Nilus, binding the stalks of two different water-plants round the 
support of a tabular frame, or stela, that contains the ovals and 











260 COLOSSAL STATUES OF AMUNOPH III. 

characters which probably record the erection of these colossi. 
A line of hieroglyphics also extends from the shoulder, down the 
back, to the pedestal, and here is found the name of the Pharaoh 
whom the statue represented, Amunoph III. On either side 
stand, attached to the throne, statues of the wife and the mother 
of the Pharaoh, eighteen feet high; and there are traces of a 
smaller statue of his queen between his feet. 

















THE WOLVERINE. 

f rills animal lias a marked character, as its great variety 
^ of significant names abundantly proves. The European 
* species, which is probably the same as the American, goes 
by the amiable title of glutton, a word which well describes its 
genius and disposition. Wolverine, which may signify a little 
wolf—or perhaps it is the same as wiffern. a fabulous animal, 
with bat wings and webbed feet and claws — is its usual designa¬ 
tion in this country. The Frcncli Canadians call it carcajou; 
the English at Hudson’s Bay, quickhatch ; the Esquimaux, kablee- 
arioo; the Indians of Boothia Felix, ka-c-week ; the Chippewas, 
naghai-ah ; the Crees and Algonquins, okeecoohawgew. It is 

called rosomak, by the Russians; timmi, by the Kamtschadalesi; 

[ 261 ] 
















262 


THE WOLVERINE. 


liaeppi, by the Koratzki; gulo, by Olaus Magnus ; hyaena, by 
Brisson ; ursus luscus, by Linnaeus ; ursus gulo, by Pallas and 
Gmelin ; taxus gulo, by Tiedemann ; gulo arcticus, by Pesmarest ; 
gulo vulgaris, by Cuvier. 

It is not surprising to find that a creature with so many names, 
has been the theme of innumerable tales, many of them true, and 
many of them fabulous. Olaus Magnus tells us that it is an 
animal of the most cruel and destructive powers. He says that 
its voracity is unbounded ; that it gorges itself with the blood 
and flesh of its victim till it is ready to burst, and then it obtains 
relief by squeezing between two trees, close together, which alike 
promotes digestion and causes an emetic ! Buffon even em¬ 
bellishes the wonderful tale. 

“ The legs of the glutton/’ he says, “ are not formed for running; 
its pace is very slow, but its cunning supplies this deficiency. It 
waits the arrival of its prey in ambush; and in order to seize it 
with greater security, it climbs up a tree, carrying with it a 
quantity of a kind of moss to which the deer are partial. This is 
thrown down to the deer, and if one of them stops, the glutton 
darts down and fastens itself so strongly with its claws and teeth 
that all the efforts of the animal cannot remove it. The poor 
victim in vain flies with its utmost speed; in vain it rubs itself 
against the trees and other objects ; all is useless: fastened on its 
back or loins, the glutton still persists in tormenting it by digging 
into its flesh and sucking its blood, till the animal, fainting, with 
loss of blood, falls. The glutton then devours it by piecemeal, 
with the utmost avidity and obstinate cruelty. It is inconceivable 
what a length of time together the glutton will eat, and what a 
quantity of flesh it will devour at one single meal. 

“ From this quality, the glutton has obtained the name of 
quadruped vulture. It is more insatiable and commits greater 
depredations than the wolf. It would destroy every animal if it 
had sufficient agility ; but the only animal it is capable of taking 
on foot, is the beaver, which it easily destroys; it even often 
attacks the animal in its hole, and devours both it and its young, 











THE WOLVERINE. 263 

if they do not get into the water in time; for then the beaver 
escapes its enemy by swimming, and the glutton stops its pursuit 
to feed upon the fish. hen it is deprived of anv living food, it 

goes in search of carcasses, scratches open the graves, and devours 
the flesh ol dead bodies to the very bone.” 

This description- is either imaginary or exaggerated. Truth 
compels us to give a more sober account, though the actual 
qualities of the animal appear to be extraordinary enough. It is 
found in northern Europe, and is familiarly known throughout 
the northern parts of our continent. Its body is two feet and a 
half in length, and its tail some seven inches; its fur is dark 
brown. Its feet are plantigrade, and its tracks are often taken 
for those of the bear. 

The glutton is scarcely capable of catching any animal by 
pursuit, and therefore its habits are generally those of a lier in 
wait, though it sometimes overtakes its prey by a slow yet per¬ 
severing chase. Small mammalia and birds are understood to be 
its ordinary fare; but, in cases of emergency, it can and does 
prey upon larger animals, upon the different species of arctic deer, 
and even on the reindeer itself. Indeed, from its mode of attack, 
the size and strength of its prey do not appear to be matters of 
very material consequence. The glutton is well adapted for 
climbing trees; and its length and lowness, the extent of its feet 
and the sharpness of its claws, enable it to hold on upon a branch, 
crouching so that it is not easily seen. 

Deer, and other animals, usually have tracks or passages 
through the thick parts of the wild forests; and so prone are all 
animals which feed on vegetables to follow in each others’ foot¬ 
steps, that sheep, horses, rabbits, and even mice, are road makers, 
although the surface upon which they make the road, by succes¬ 
sively following each other, may be quite level and uniform. The 
same instinct which leads the glutton to prey upon those animals, 
leads it to the track along which they pass; and getting on to a 
branch that overhangs this track, it drops down on the shoulders 
of the passing animal, where it keeps a firm hold with its sharp 


1 








264 THE WOLVERINE. 

claws, tearing and lacerating all the while with its formidable 
teeth, at that part where the neck joins the shoulders. The pain 
produced induces the victim to set off at great speed, and the 
excitement increases the discharge of blood from the wounded 
part; so that, as is the case with the larger prey of the lion, the 
strength and fleetncss of the animal contribute to its destruction, 
and the glutton continues in its place of attack until the prey 
tumbles down completely exhausted and incapable of making any 
further resistance. 

We are told that the gluttons are exceedingly troublesome to 
the marten hunters, whom they will follow round a line of traps 
from forty to sixty miles, and take off the baits, which consist of 
the heads of partridges or bits of dried venison. They often tear 
away the martens which they find in the traps, and, as they do not 
relish their flesh, they bury them in the snow. The fox has a less 
delicate appetite, and accordingly he feeds upon what the gluttons 
have concealed. So well understood is this practice, that the 
former is often seen following the latter animals, evidently re¬ 
garding them as his providers. 

It seems that the glutton is sly and suspicious, and instead of 
entering a trap, he begins behind, pulls it to pieces, scatters the 
logs, and then carries off the bait. Richardson says he lias seen 
one of these creatures following a hare, which at the same time 
was harassed by a snowy owl. It resembles the bear in its gait, and 
though not fleet, it is vigorous, persevering, and industrious, and 
gets a luxurious living. It does not disdain making a meal upon 
any dead animal which comes in its way. It does not sleep through 
the winter like the bear, but continues its activity through the 
season. The track of its journey in a single night, may be often 
followed in the* snow for many miles. In general it flies from 
man, and makes a poor fight with a hunter ; but Sir James Ross 
tells us that a short time before he abandoned his ship in Victoria 
harbor, one of these creatures, pressed by hunger, came boldly on 
the deck of the vessel, amidst the men, seized a canister which 
had some meat in it, and was so ravenous that he was taken in 












THE WOLVERINE. 265 

the very act by a noose slipped around his neck. We may 
add, that the glutton may be tamed, and is easily taught to 
perform various amusing tricks. We are told of one at 
Dresden, that among other performances, ate fourteen pounds 
of meat a day ! 


j 

i 

! 

i 

i 











I 



THE DOORWAY TO THE TEMPLE OF THE SUN. 


THE RUINS OF BAALBEC. 


iN a valley at the foot of Mount Anti-Libanus, and forty- 
three miles northwest of Damascus, lie the ruins of Baalbec, 
^ the Heliopolis of the Greeks, and the Baal-ath of the 
Scriptures. With the exception of those of Palmyra, no other 
ruins in Syria equal in extent those of Baalbec ; in grandeur they 
exceed all that remain in this ancient and renowned country. 
The principal vestiges are those of three temples,. and the city 
walls, the latter three or four miles in circuit. 

The origin of this city is lost in the mists of antiquity. It was 
situated on the road from Tyre to Palmyra, and was probably a 
place of some note as early as the time of Solomon ; it is supposed 

by some to have been built bv him, under the name of Baal-ath, as 
[ 266 ] 






































the ruins of baalbec. 267 

related in 2 Chronicles viii. 6 ; and a portion of it is regarded as 
the “ house of the forest of Lebanon,” constructed by that monarch, 
as related in 1 Kings, chap. vii. It is not improbable that here 
was the “ house which he made for Pharaoh’s daughter whom he 
had taken to wife/’ The Temple of the Sun, which is one of the 
, wonders ot the world, was probably erected by Antonius Pius, 
who became emperor of Rome, A. D. 136. The city continued 
to be a place of importance till the Moslem invasion, when 
it v as sacked, A. D. 7S6; in 1400 it was pillaged, and finally 
destroyed, by the Tartar hordes under Tamerlane. The present 
village, to the east of the ruins, is an insignificant place of 2,000 
inhabitants. 

L\eiv tiavelcr nlio has visited the site of Baalbec, seems to 
have been overwhelmed by the grandeur and the desolation of the 
scene. The ruins do not present a crowd of fallen edifices like 
those of Palmyra ; they consist, as we have said, of three distinct 
• buildings, constructed of a species of marble, and finely grouped 
together on the west side of the town, in a plain at a short 
distance from the inhabited portion of the place. 

The Great Temple originally consisted of a magnificent central 
edifice, with courts and quadrangles, the whole occupying a circuit 
ot half a mile. It embraced a portico, a hexagonal court 244 feet 
in diameter, a quadrangle 317 feet in width and 347 in length, 
with the peristyles of the temple itself. Of this last, six gigantic 
and highly polished pillars remain, seventy feet six inches in 
height, and twenty-three feet in circumference, with the cornice 
and entablature resting upon them. The whole edifice was built 
without mortar, the stones being so nicely fitted as not to admit a 
knife-blade between the joints. The pillars and cornices were 
fastened by clamps of metal. • 

The two courts were encompassed by chambers, open towards the 
front, and supposed to have been occupied by priests, and perhaps 
by schools and lyceums. • Towards the west is an esplanade, 118 
feet in width, and 230 in length, bounded by a sloping wall, thirtv- 
two feet high. In this the stones are of enormous magnitude; 











268 THE RUINS OF BAALBEC. 

two are sixty feet long, and one sixty-three feet, both having a 
breadth and thickness of twelve feet. These are elevated in the 
wall to the height of twenty feet! In no known human structure, 
not even in the temples or pyramids of Egypt, are there any 
masses of stone comparable in size to these. In a neighboring 
quarry, from the material of which the temple was built, there is 
one stone which is seventy feet long, fourteen feet wide, and 
fourteen feet six inches thick, and weighing 1,130 tons! It would 
require 20,000 men to move it. By no process of which we have 
any knowledge, could such masses be moved from their bed and 
wrought into buildings. We can only account for what we see 
has been done, by considering the immense power of the Roman 
emperors, who could command the slavish labor of thousands or 
even millions of their subjects, to execute any task to which 
ambition incited them. 

The masses of columns, the heaps of stones, the wilderness of 
capitals, cornices, architraves, and entablatures which lie prostrate 
upon the earth, amid walls, colonnades and arches, either in partial 
decay, or still lifting their noble forms toward the sky, surpass 
all powers of description. Lamartine says: “ On reaching the 
summit of the breach, we know not where to fix our eyes. On 
every side we behold marble doors of prodigious dimensions, 
windows and niches bordered with exquisite sculpture, richly 
ornamented arches, fragments of cornices, entablatures, and cap¬ 
itals. The master works of art, the wrecks of ages, lay scattered 
as thickly as grains of dust, beneath our feet. All was mystery, 
confusion, inexplicable wonder. No sooner had we cast an 
admiring glance on one side, than some new prodigy attracted us 
on another.” 

One of the rilost beautiful portions of the Great Temple, is the 
door-way of which a sketch is given at the head of this article. 
“This,” says Mr. Roberts, the celebrated artist, “is perhaps the 
most elaborate work, as well as the most exquisite in its detail, 
of anything of its kind in the world. The pencil can convey but 
a faint idea of its beauty. One scroll alone, of acanthus leaves, 









THE RUINS OF BAALBEC. 260 

with groups of children and panthers intertwined, might form a 
work of itself. Even independently of the beauty of the sculpture, 
and its excellent preservation, we are lost in wonder at the size 
of the stones, and at the nature of the machinery by which such 
masses were raised. Earthquakes have shaken this extraordinary 
remnant; but from the magnitude of the blocks which form the 
lintel, the central one, being wedge-shaped, has slipped only so 
far as to break away a portion of the blocks on either side, and 
thus remains suspended.” 

The exquisite beauty of these relics, however, cannot dispel 
the feeling of sadness and desolation which the whole scene 
impresses on the mind. The place is utterly deserted, except by 
lizards which swann by thousands beneath the stones, flocks of 
pigeons which nestle among the crumbling wall and columns, 
and troops of bats which cling to the crevices. By day, this 
edifice, which was once thronged with worshipers lifting their 
minds and voices to Baal, the Spirit of Life, as imaged in the Sun, 
is alike without an altar, a priesthood, and a people: at night, 
its roofless halls are given up to darkness and gloom, sad emblems 
of the mystery in which its story begins, and the ruin in which 
it ends. 

VJ' 

• 












THE WETTERHORN, OR PEAK OF TEMPESTS. 


immensity of the scale upon which the Swiss Alps are 
formed, renders it impossible that any pictorial represen¬ 
tation should give an adequate idea of their appearance. 
They are supremely the work of God, and defy the petty arts of 
man almost as much to imitate as to create them. By selecting a 
single peak, however, as in the sketch at the head of this article, 

the artist may give a faint and ghost-like semblance of one among 
[ 270 ] 





































































THE WETTERHORN, OR PEi-Ii OF TEMPESTS. 271 

the thousand giant elevations which make up the sublime chain of 
the Alps. 

It is even more futile to attempt any measure of these mountains 
by the imagination. We may see them indicated on a map, and 
be told their height and their extent; but these numbers do not 
and cannot stretch the soul to a full comprehension of them, in 
their diversified peaks and glaciers, their valleys and precipices, 
their woods and waterfalls. All general views of such a subject 
must consist ol a mere outline, a glimmering impression, “ a mass 
of things, but nothing distinctly.” A more correct, and, in 
lact, a larger and more adequate comprehension, will be attained 
by taking an individual mountain, and making that the subject of 
special observation. 

Let us, for instance, select the Wetterhorn, which is one of the 

peaks rising up from the valleys of the Swiss Oberland. Until 

recently, tins had never been ascended by the foot of man ; but, in 

1845, a young Englishman, by the name of Speer, accompanied 

by several guides, scaled its heights, and stood upon its summit. 

Starting troin the village of Interlachcn, in the canton of Berne, 

they climbed over rocks and glaciers, and surmounting every 

danger and every obstacle, at last achieved their hazardous 

enterprise. The principal in this adventure, in a very interesting 

account he has given of it, savs : 

# * • 

“ We had thus, after three days’ continual ascent from the level 
of the plain, attained a height of 12,154 feet above the level of 
the sea. Up to this period, our attention had been too much 
occupied in surmounting the opposing obstacles which lay in our 
route, to allow us to contemplate with attention the astonishing 
panorama which gradually unfolded itself. The summit being 
under our feet, we had ample leisure to examine the relative 
position of the surrounding peaks, the greater portion of which 
appeared to lie far beneath us. To the north, we perceived the 
Faulhorn, and the range of mountains skirting the lake of Brienz ; 
behind these, the passage of the Brunig, together with the lakes 
of Lungern and Lucerne, on the banks of which rise the pyramids 












272 THE WETTERHORN, OR PEAK OF TEMPESTS. 

of the Righi, and the Mont Pilate, the summits of which, the 
boast of so many tourists, appeared as mole-hills. 

“ Towards the east, the eye wanders over an interminable 
ascent of snow-clad summits, extending to the utmost verge of the 
horizon — a perfect ocean of mountains. Turning to the south, 
however, we there perceive the monarchs of these Bernese Alps 
rising side by side: the Rosenliorn and Berglistock raise their 
snow-clad crests in close proximity; separated from them by the 
Col dc Lauteraar, we perceived the rugged Shreckhorn, aptly 
denominated the Peak of Terror; whilst the loftiest of the group, 
the Finsteraarhorn, appears peering among his companions. To 
the right of these two peaks, the brilliant Vischerhorner next 
came into view; beyond which, we discover the three celebrated 
sister summits of the Eiger, the Mounch, and the Jungfrau ; the 
whole group exceeding the height of 12,000 feet. 

“At the base of these gigantic masses lies the Wengern Alp, 
apparently a mere undulation; whilst, far below, the outline of 
the village of Grindelwald may be faintly discerned, the river 
Lutchine winding, like a silver thread, through the valley. On 
all sides of the peak on which we now stood — on the summit of 
which a dozen persons could scarcely assemble—we beheld vast, 
glittering precipices; at the foot of these lie the plains of snow 
which contribute to the increase of the numerous glaciers, situated 
still lower; namely, to the left, the superior glacier of Grindel¬ 
wald, and that of Lauteraar: to the right, the glaciers of Gauli, 
of Reufen, and of Rosenlaui, out of which rose the peaks of the 
Wellborn, the Tosenhorn, and Engelhorner.” 

Having surveyed with unbounded admiration and wonder the 
unrivaled scene, the adventurers descended, and, after an absence 
of four days, returned to Interlachen. Such was the labor of 
climbing a single peak of the Alps ; and that nearly four thousand 
feet less elevated than Mont Blanc! 









TIIE OPOSSUM. 


f PjIIIS is a familiar animal in the southern states ; but 
jr nothing can deprive it of the interest excited by its 
curious structure and habits. From the period of its first 
discovery, it has attracted the attention of naturalists. 

In the “ Perfect Description of Virginia,” (1649,) we find in the 
catalogue of animals, as follows : “ Passounes : this beast hath a 
bagge under her belly, into which she takes her young ones, if at 
any time affrighted, and carries them away.” Lawson says: 
“The<7possum is found nowhere but in America. She is the 
wonder of all the land animals, being the size of a badger, and 
near that color. The female doubtless breeds her young at her 
teats, for I have seen them stick fast thereto, when they have been 
no bigger than a small raspberry, and seemingly inanimate. She 
has a paunch, or false belly, wherein she carries her young, after 
18 [ 273 ] 



















274 THE OPOSSUM. 

they are from those teats, till they can shift for themselves. Their 
food is roots, poultry, or wild fruits. They have no hair on their 
tails, but a sort of scale, or hard crust, as the beavers have. 

“ If a cat has nino lives, this creature has surely nineteen ; for 
if you break every bone in their skin, and mash their skull, leaving 
them for dead, you may come an hour after and they will be gone, 
or perhaps you may meet them creeping away. They are a very 
stupid creature, utterly neglecting their safety. They are most 
like rats of any thing. I have for necessity, in the wilderness, 
eaten of them. Their flesh is very white and well-tasted; but 
their ugly tails put me out of conceit with that fare. They climb 
trees as the racoons do. Their fur is not esteemed, nor used, 
save that the Indians spin it into girdles and gaiters.” 

This antique and quaint description is not very wide of the 
truth. Although the more recent discovery of the kangaroo, and 
various other marsupial animals, in New Holland, has somewhat 
diminished the wonder with which we regarded the great peculi¬ 
arity of the opossum, the pouch in the female for the reception 
of her young, yet it is so strange a departure from the ordinary 
routine of nature, that we cannot cease to look upon it with 
curious admiration. 

The number of young produced at a birth by the opossum, is 
from five to sixteen, the period of gestation being about twenty-six 
days. At first these creatures are scarcelv larger than a bumble- 
bee. They remain in the pouch, clinging to the paps till they 
are of sufficient size to run about, when they occasionally go forth 
upon the ground or the trees. They return, however, upon the 
slightest alarm, and indeed spend a great part of their time here, 
in nursing and sleeping, until they are capable of taking care of 
themselves. The pouch may be opened, and the young ones 
counted and handled, without their showing much anxiety. So 
long as they are in the cradle which nature has provided for them, 
they seem to be without either care or fear. 

From the mere inspection of the feet of this animal, it is easy 
to judge that he walks awkwardly, and seldom runs; a man can 











THE OPOSSUM. 275 

overtake him without hastening his steps. He climbs up trees 
witl^ great facility, hides himself in the leaves to catch birds, or 
hangs himself by the tail, the extremity of which is muscular and 
flexible as the hand, so that he may squeeze and even incurvatc 
all the bodies he seizes upon. He sometimes remains a long time 
in this situation, without motion; his body hangs with his head 
downward, where he silently waits for his prey: at other times, 
he balances himself to jump from one tree to another, like the 
monkeys with like muscular flexible tails, which he resembles also 
in the conformation of the feet. Though he is voracious, and 
even greedy of blood, which he seeks with avidity, he feeds also 
on reptiles, insects, sugar-canes, potatoes, roots, and even leaves 
and barks of trees. The fruit of the persimmon tree is his favorite 
article of food. He is easily tamed, but he creates disgust by his 
bad smell, stronger and more offensive than that of the fox. His 
figure is also forbidding ; for independently of his ears, which 
resemble those of an owl, of his tail, which resembles that of a 
serpent, and of his mouth, which is cleft to the very eyes, his body 
appears always very dirty, because his hair is neither smooth nor 
curled, but tarnished, as if covered with dirt. The bad smell of 
this animal resides in the skin, for his flesh is eatable. The 
savages hunt this creature, and feed on his flesh heartily. 

The opossum is a nocturnal and timid animal, depending for 
his safety more on cunning than strength. His motions are slow, 
and his walk, when on the ground, entirely plantigrade, which 
gives an appearance of clumsiness to his movements. When on 
the branches of trees, he moves with much greater ease, and with 
perfect security from sudden gusts of wind ; even were his weight 
sufficient to break the limb on which he rests, there is no danger 
of his falling to the earth, unless when on the lowest branch, as 
he can certainly catch and securely cling to the smallest inter¬ 
vening twigs, either with the hands, or the extremity of the tail. 

This organ is always employed by the animal while on the smaller 
branches of trees, as if to guard against such an occurrence ; and 
it is very useful in aiding the opossum to collect his food, by 















276 the opossum. 

enabling him to suspend himself from a branch above, while rifling 
a bird’s nest of its eggs, or gathering fruits. ^ 

The hunting of the opossum is a favorite sport with the country 
people, who frequently go out with their dogs on moonlit nights, 
after the autumnal frosts have begun, and the persimmon fruit is in 
its most delicious state. As soon as he discovers the approach 
of his enemies, the opossum lies perfectly close to the branch, or 
places himself snugly in the angle where two limbs separate from 
each other. The dogs, however, soon announce the fact of his 
presence, by their baying ; and the hunter, ascending the tree, 
discovers the branch upon which the animal is seated, and begins 
to shake it with c;reat violence, to alarm and cause him to relax 
his hold. This is soon effected, and the opossum, attempting to 
escape to another limb, is pursued immediately, and the shaking 
is renewed with greater violence, until, at length, the terrified 
quadruped allows himself to drop to the ground, where hunters, 
or dogs are prepared to despatch him. 

Should the hunter, as frequently happens, be unaccompanied by 
dogs when the opossum falls to the ground, it does not imme¬ 
diately make its escape, but steals slowly and quietly to a little 
distance, and then, gathering itself into as small a compass as 
possible, remains as still as if dead. Should there be any quantity 
of grass or underwood near the tree, this apparently simple 
artifice is frequently sufficient to secure the animal’s escape, as it 
is difficult by moonlight, or in the shadow of the tree, to distin¬ 
guish it; and if the hunter has not carefully examined the spot 
wdiere it fell, his labor is often in vain. This circumstance, how¬ 
ever, is generally attended to, and the opossum derives but little 
benefit from his instinctive artifice. 

After remaining in this apparently lifeless condition for a con¬ 
siderable time, or so long as any noise indicative of danger can 
be heard, the opossum slowly unfolds himself, and creeping as 
closely as possible upon the ground, would fain sneak off unper¬ 
ceived. Upon a shout or outcry in any tone from his persecutor, 
he immediately renews his deathlike attitude and stillness. If 









THE OPOSSUM. 277 

then approached, moved, or handled, he is still seemingly dead, 
and might deceive any one not accustomed to his actions. This 
feigning is repeated as frequently as opportunity is allowed him 
of attempting to escape, and is, in fact, one of the most curious 
and characteristic traits of the animal. 

The usual haunts of the opossum are thick forests, and their 
dens are generally in hollows of decayed trees, where they pass the 
day asleep, and sally forth after nightfall to seek food. They are, 
however, occasionally seen out during the daylight, especially when 
they have young ones of considerable size, too large to be carried 
in the maternal pouch. The female then olfers a very singular 
appearance, as she toils along with twelve or sixteen cubs, nearly 
of the size of rats, each with a turn of his tail around the root of 
the mother’s, and clinging on her back and sides with claws, 
hands, and mouth. It is exceedingly curious and interesting to 
see the young, when the mother is at rest, take refuge in the 
pouch, whence one or two of them may be seen peeping out with 
an air of great comfort and satisfaction. The mother, in this 
condition, or at any time in defence of her young, will make 
battle, biting with much keenness and severity, for which her 
long canine teeth are well suited. 

The opossum is not known in the colder parts of America, but 
is distributed throughout the milder parts of both divisions of the 
continent. As we have said, it is a familiar animal in the southern 
and south western states, even entering into the popular songs 
and proverbs of the people there. “ Possum up a gum tree,” is 
a favorite negro ballad, and “ playing possum,” is a common 
phrase, expressive of pretence and deception, derived from the 
well-known tricks which this animal employs in its attempts to 
escape from its pursuers. It is sometimes tamed, yet it is never a 
favorite. It is at once familiar and captious, sometimes being 
troublesome from its familiarity, and yet often snappish and 
snarling, when its humors are not consulted. It is also exceed¬ 
ingly troublesome by its meddling curiosity, seeming to have 
something of both the bear and the monkey in its disposition. 















THE LEAF. 


/q*£)T came with spring’s soft sun and showers, 
ra.} ’Mid bursting buds and opening flowers- 
^ It flourished on the same light stem, 

It drank the same bright dews with them. 


The crimson tints of summer morn, 

That gilded one, did eacli adorn : 

The breeze that whispered, light and brief, 
To bud or blossom, kissed the leaf; 

When o’er the leaf the tempest flew, 

The bud and blossom trembled too. 


But its companions passed away, 

And left the leaf to lone decay ; 

The gentle gales of spring went by ; 

The fruits and flowers of summer die ; ' 
The autumn winds swept o’er the hill, 
And winter’s breath came cold and chill. 
The leaf now yielded to the blast, 

And on the rushing stream was cast: 
[ 278 ] 












✓ 


THE LEAP. 279 

Far, far it glided to the sea, 

And whirled and eddied wearily, 

Till suddenly it sank to rest, 

Forgotten in the ocean’s breast. 

Thus life begins — its morning hours 
Bright as the birthday of the flowers 
Thus passes like the leaves away, 

As withered and as lost as they. 

Beneath the parent roof we meet 
In joyous groups, and gayly greet 
The golden beams of love and light 
That dawn upon the youthful sight ; 

But soon we part, and one by one, 

Like leaves and flowers, the group is gon 

One gentle spirit seeks the tomb, 

His brow yet fresh with childhood’s bloom 
Another treads the paths of fame, 

And barters peace to win a name : 

Another still, tempts fortune’s wave, 

And seeking wealth, secures a grave. 

One lingers yet, with tottering tread, 

And trembling grasps life’s brittle thread 
Though friends are gone, and joy is dead : 

Still, still he dares the fretful tide, 

And clutches at its power and pride 
Till, suddenly, the waters sever, 

And, like the leaf, he sinks forever! 









LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 







IIE language of animals is an 
' instinctive expression of their 
inward conceptions and wants, 
by signs, looks, or voice ; but it is not 
able to convey intelligence which is 
not immediately connected with their 
own state or that of the community. 

The lower orders of animals, particularly insects, communicate 
by signs; and the organs employed for that purpose are the 
feelers, as in bees and ants, which, like every other animal living- 
in society, require a medium of communication. The effects 
produced upon the former by the loss of their queen, will furnish 
proof of this fact. In a well-peopled and thriving hive, each bee 
is employed in its appropriate avocation — some in attending the 
young, some in making cells. At first, when the queen has been 
abstracted, everything goes on well for about an hour: after this 
space of time, some few of the workers appear in a state of great 
agitation ; they forsake the young, relinquish their labor, and 
begin to traverse the hive in a furious manner. In their progress, 
whenever they meet a companion, they mutually cross their 
antennae, or feelers, and the one which seems first to have dis¬ 
covered the national loss, communicates the sad news to its 
neighbor, by giving it a gentle tap with these organs. This 
one in its turn becomes agitated, runs over the cells, crossing 

and striking others. 

[- 280 ] 

















LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 281 

To make out the use of the antennas, Huger tried various experi¬ 
ments by amputating them altogether, and the results were very 
remarkable. The queen, when thus shorn, ran about the combs, 

9 

dropped her eggs anywhere, and became perfectly helpless ; the 
workers neglected their labors, ran into corners, or to some sunny 
spot, and ultimately quitted the hive never to return. Hence it 
would seem that the antennas are the organs of communication; ' 
and, as a further proof of it, the sentinels, on a moonlight night, may 
be seen patroling round their habitation with these feelers stuck 
out. If some unhappy moth, slyly endeavoring to steal into the 
habitation, happens to come in contact with them, the signal is 
made, and a body of guards soon rush out to chastise the interloper. 

Attachment to the female is not the only instance of affection 
evinced by ants; they, as well as bees, appear to recognise each 
other even after a long absence. Huber, having taken an ant-hill 
from the woods, placed it in a glass hive; finding that he had a 
superabundance of ants, he allowed some of them to escape, and 
these formed a nest in his garden. Those which were in the hive 
he carried into his study, and observed their habits for four 
months; after which he placed the hive in the garden, within 
fifteen paces of the natural nest. Immediately, the ants established 
in it recognised their former companions, with whom they had 
held no communication for four months: they caressed them with 
their antennas, and, taking them up in their mandibles, led them 
to their own nest. Presently others arrived in crowds, and 
carried off the fugitives in a similar manner; and, venturing into 
the artificial ant-hill, in a few days caused such a desertion that it 
was wholly depopulated. 

The above anecdote seems to prove that ants have a language 
of dumb signs, of which the organs are the antennae. As yet, the 
proofs of this antennal language have been drawn from the affec¬ 
tions of these creatures ; but more striking ones are to be derived 
from their passions—for there are a few animals in which the 
passions assume a more deep and threatening aspect; they unite 
themselves in myriads for the purposes of war and extermination. 

i 













282 LANGUAGE OP ANIMALS. 

Dr. Franklin found some ants feasting on some treacle in his 
closet. He shook them out, and suspended the. pot by a string 
from the ceiling. One ant had happened to remain, and after 
eating its fill, found its way up the string with some difficulty, 
crawled on to the ceiling, and thence along the wall to its nest. 
In less than half an hour a great company of ants sallied out of 
their hole to the ceiling, and crept along the string into the pot. 
This was done by others, till the treacle was all consumed; one 
body of ants running up the string from the sweet, while another 
passed down to it. The Doctor inferred that the first ant had 
communicated to its comrades the new position of their delicacy, 
and directed them to the only accessible road to it. 

Mr. Jesse says that “ nature has given to ants a language of 
communication, bv the contact of their antennae. With these 
organs, they are enabled to render mutual assistance in their 
labors and dangers, discover again their route when they have 
lost it, and make each other acquainted with their necessities.” 
He adds, respecting wasps : “ if a single wasp discovers a deposit 
of honey, or other food, he will return to his nest and impart 
the good news to his companions, who will sally forth in great 
numbers to partake of the fare.” 

A beetle— scarabceus —making a pellet of dung for the recep¬ 
tion of its egg, rolled it to the summit of a small hillock, but it 
fell into a hole, from which all the efforts of the beetle could not 
extricate it. After several ineffectual trials, the insect repaired 
to an adjoining heap of dung, and soon returned with three of his 
companions. All four now joined and succeeded in pushing out 
the pellet, when the three assistant beetles left the spot and 
returned to their own quarters. 

The higher classes of animals obviously communicate their 
wishes and ideas to each other by signs. Cattle and horses, by 
biting the corresponding part on each other, indicate the service 
they wish to have performed on themselves. 

Two goats grazing about the ramparts of Plymouth citadel, got 
down upon the narrow ledge of the rock, and one of them ad- 









LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 283 

1 

vancing before the other till it came to an angle, was enabled to 
return ; but in its way back it met its companion, which produced 
a most perplexing dilemma, as it was impossible for them to get 
past each other. Many persons saw them, without being able to 
render any assistance. After a considerable time, one of the 
goats was observed to kneel down with great caution, crouching 
as close as it could lie; which was no sooner done, than the 
other, with great dexterity, walked over him, and they both 
returned the way they came, in perfect safety. At Ardinglass, 
near Glenarm, in Ireland, two goats moving towards each other, 
over a precipice one thousand feet high, on a narrow ledge of 
rock, were seen to extricate themselves from danger by a simi¬ 
lar expedient. In both these instances, the animals looked at 
each other for some time, as if they were considering their 
situation and deliberating what was best to be done in the em¬ 
ergency. 

The martin builds on the outside of houses, under the eaves; 

and when it has built its nest, the sparrow frequently takes 

forcible possession of it. The martin, unable to dislodge the 

intruder, convokes his companions, some of whom guard the cap- 
# 

tive, while others bring clay, and completely closing up the 
entrance of the nest, fly away, leaving the sparrow to be suffo¬ 
cated, and to perish from hunger. 

Many insects possess a voice, or the power of extracting a 
sound by some muscular action of their bodies; which sounds, 
whether by the way of challenge, of calling, or of pleasure, are so 
many means of expressing their sensations, and even their wants. 

The chirping of a cricket is immediately responded to by its 
neighbor, like the challenge of a cock ; the ptinus , or death-watch, 
whteh makes a ticking noise by beating its head with great force 
against the substance on which it stands, invites its female; and 
the deafening din of the cicadce seems to proceed from an exube¬ 
rance ofjoy. 

The walrus, in case of attack, plunges into the deep, and sum¬ 
mons others of its race to its assistance. 











284 LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 

There is a beautiful species of the lizard tribe, called the monitor, 
a native of South America, said to be so attached to the human 
race, that by a sort of loud and shrill whistle, it warns mankind 
of the approach of alligators, serpents, and other noxious animals. 
Southey, in his “Life of Nelson,” intimates that the life of that 
hero would, in all probability, have been much shorter, but for 
the timely warning of one of these animals. When about to 
attack the Castle of St. Juan, one of his men was bitten under the 
eye by a snake, which darted at him from the bough of a tree, 
lie was unable to proceed from the violence of the pain, and 
when, after a short time, his comrades were sent back to assist 
him, he was dead. Nelson himself narrowly escaped a similar 
fate. He had ordered his hammock to be slung under some trees, 
being excessively fatigued, and was sleeping, when a monitory 
lizard passed across his face. The Indians happily observed the 
reptile, and knowing what it indicated, awoke him. He started 
up, and found one of the deadliest serpents of the country coiled 
up at his feet. 

That animals possess the means of communicating with one 
another, and of expressing their ideas and wants, will admit of no 
question ; but how this is effected is often beyond all human observ¬ 
ation, although, in some cases, the gestures of the animal with 
reference to some particular object before him, render the inter¬ 
pretation easy. A gentleman who was in the habit of occasionally 
visiting London from a distant county, performed the journey on 
horseback, accompanied by a favorite little terrier dog, which he 
left at an inn at St. Albans, some twenty miles from the city, till 
.his return. On one occasion, on calling for his dog, the landlady 
told him that it was lost. It had had a quarrel with the great 
house dog, and had been so worried and bitten that it was 
thought he would never recover; but at the end of a few days he 
crawled out of the yard, and no one saw him for almost a week, 
when he returned with another dog, bigger than his enemy, on 
whom they both fell and nearly destroyed him. This dog had 
actually traveled to its own home at Whitmore, in Staffordshire, 















LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 285 

had coaxed away the great dog in question, which followed him 
to St. Alban's to assist in resenting the injury of its friend. 

The following story is related of a little spaniel which had 
been found lame by a surgeon at Leeds. The latter carried the 
poor animal home, bandaged up its leg, and after two or three 
days turned him out. The dog returned to the surgeon’s house 
every morning till his leg was perfectly well. At the end of 
several months, the spaniel again presented himself in company 
with another dog, which had also been lamed ; and he intimated, 
as well as piteous and intelligent looks could intimate, that he 
desired the same assistance to be rendered to his friend as had 
been bestowed upon himself. The combination of ideas in this 
case, growing out ot the recollection of his own injury, and 
referring that to the cure which had been performed, the compas¬ 
sion he had for his friend, to whom lie communicated the occur¬ 
rence, and induced to seek relief under his guidance, together with 
the appeal to the humane surgeon, is as extraordinary a piece of 
sagacity as can be found in all the annals of animal biography. 

Animal language is chiefly confined to expressions of sensation, 
and of desire of some kind ; and even an unpractised ear can 
discriminate between the notes of joy and pain, of anger and fear, 
of hunger and distress, of rage and lust. The voice, again, when 
exerted in cries for assistance, is changed and modulated into 
sounds of thankfulness and satisfaction. In England, a cow ran 
hastily up to a man, as he entered a field, who, mistaking her 
intention, moved away; she then stopped and bellowed in a dis¬ 
tressing manner, as if to gain his attention. Seeing him look 
towards her, she went to a ditch, and again bellowed loudly. He- 
walked to it, and saw a calf on its back, almost lifeless from its 
ineffectual struggles to release itself. Audubon relates, that birds 
whose nests are attacked b} r snakes, raise a loud and piteous cry 
of alarm, which collects an assemblage of other birds, who join in 
a furious attack on the reptile and compel it to retreat, and even 
at times destroy it. 

Most animals utter sounds of some sort or other, which they 

/ 












286 LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 

can vary into as many tones as are necessary to give vent to their 
feelings, to denote their wants, or to communicate with one 
another. Whoever has taken the trouble to watch a poultry-yard, 
must have perceived that each species uses particular modifications 
of sound to their brood, and fellows, to signify what they wish 
them to understand, and each seems perfectly to comprehend the 
meaning of the speaker. 

Among fowls, at their accustomed hour of being fed, if it be 
delayed, all are clamorous for it. The cock repeatedly calls his 
liens to the grain, if they be absent, and these, their chickens. 
The maternal notes, to express danger to the brood; those of 
anger against an assailant, and of alarm at their own peril; and 
their calls for each other, when those accustomed to be together 
are separated and unseen, arc very distinguishable. All these are 
appropriated to their respective sensations, and are only repeated 
as these occur. Ray has remarked the different voices of the hen, 
when she broods — when she leads her chickens — when she has 
found food, and calls them to it—when she would alarm them to 
seek shelter — when she is amjry — when she has laid an csrs; — 
when in pain or in great fear ; all significant, being effects of the 
several passions of anger, grief, fear, or joy. Again, if a fowl 
flies down from an eminence, with what a cheer and hurrah is it 
welcomed to terra firma; and with what congratulations is the 
announcement of the laying of an egg received by the whole 
tribe! 

Many animals have been remarked for their communications, by 
utterance, to each other. The chamois, when alarmed, advertise 
each other of their feelings by a kind of whistle. The one on 
watch continues this as long as lie can blow without taking breath. 
He then stops for a moment, looks round on all sides, and begins 
whistling afresh, which he continues from time to time. He leaps 
on the highest stones he can find, again looks round, leaps from 
one place to another, and when he discovers anything seriously 
alarming, flies off. 

Many of the ape species, when beaten, will sigh, groan, and 














LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 287 

weep like children. The four-lingered monkey, when touched, 
utters a plaintive kind of cry; but lias another sound, which it 
emits as an expression of delight at receiving foo*d. When female 
seals come out of the sea, they bleat, like sheep, for their young. 

Marcgrave gives a singular account of the Ouarine monkey. 
He says: “ 1 have frequently been a witness of their assemblies 
and deliberations. Every day they assemble in the woods, to 
receive instructions. One then takes the highest place on a tree, 
and makes a signal with his hand for the rest to sit round. As 
soon as lie sees them placed, he begins his discourse in a loud and 
precipitate voice : the rest observe a profound silence. When he 
has done, he makes a sign with his hand for the rest to reply. At 
that instant they raise their voices together, until, by another 
signal, they are enjoined to silence. At last the assembly 
breaks up.” 

The following incident is related as having occurred on the rock 
of Gibraltar, where it is well known that the only European colony 
of monkeys exists. A party of soldiers occupying an advanced 
post during the celebrated siege, in 1782, and being ordered to 
lie concealed, observed a troop of monkeys advance, with an old 
gray-headed baboon, carefully guarded, in the center. To use 
the words of the witness, who describes it as a Monkey Court; 

“They arrived, halted, and 
detached their prisoner to a 
small distance, where he re¬ 
mained between two monkeys, 
who had the charge of him. 
The rest formed a sort of 
court, before which an advo¬ 
cate evidently accused the 
prisoner of some offence, he 
weeping, screaming, and fre¬ 
quently interrupting the at¬ 
torney-general. Indeed, the 
proceedings seem to have been altogether irregular, for the judges, 












288 LANGUAGE OF ANIMALS. 

advocate, and prisoner, were all screaming together. At length, 
however, an old monkey, whom the soldiers insisted was the 
chief-justice of the woods, screamed louder than the rest, and 
the prisoner was instantly hurried olf, and precipitated over a 
projecting rock. The soldiers were much scandalized at this 
proceeding, being convinced that the old baboon was too helpless 
to have deserved his punishment, and that he was sacrificed under 
some false accusation, to prevent his being burdensome to his 
parish.” 

'Wenzel, in his analyzation of the animal voice, savs that dis- 
tress and trouble are expressed by a dissyllabic sound, as with 
dogs and cats when deprived of their young —with hens, when 
their foster-brood of ducklings plunge into the water — and with 
birds, when alarmed by a bird of prey ; that satisfaction and 
pleasure are denoted by quick consecutive notes, and displeasure 
by indistinct and hasty sounds ; soft and prolonged notes are the 
expression of love, boisterous ones those of joy ; impetuous, inhar¬ 
monious, and sharp tones, betoken anger, and when monosyllabic, 
hollow and continued, sadness. 

The voice, in animals, has reference to some immediate object 
of perception, or to some want, of which they are reminded by 
instinct or memory; and as they seem to be nearly incapable of 
forming any abstract notions or speculations apart from sensible 
objects, the want of articulate language must ever oppose an 
insurmountable barrier to their progress in acquired knowledge, 
beyond individual experience. 

A gentleman of Inverness, while passing through a lonely and 
unfrequented district, on a journey in the highlands, observed a 
sheep hurrying towards the road before him, as if to interrupt 
his progress, and at the same time bleating most piteously. On 
approaching nearer, the animal redoubled its cries, and, looking 
significantly in the face of the traveler, seemed to implore some 
favor or assistance at his hands. Touched with a sight so unusual, 
the gentleman alighted, and leaving his gig, followed the sheep to 
a field in the direction whence it came. There, in a solitary cairn, 













LANGUAGE OP ANIMALS. 281 ) 

at a considerable distance from the road, the sheep halted, and 
the traveler found a lamb completely wedged in between two 
large stones of the cairn, and struggling feebly, with its legs 
uppermost. He instantly extricated it and placed it safely on the 
ground, while the overjoyed dam bleated forth her thanks in a 
manner not to be misunderstood. 

An old goose that had been for a fortnight hatching in a 
farmer’s kitchen, was perceived, on a sudden, to be taken violently 
ill. She soon after left the nest, and repaired to an out-house 
where there was a young goose of the first year, which she brought 
with her into the kitchen. The young one immediately scrambled 
into the old one’s nest, sat, hatched, and afterwards brought up 
the brood. The old goose, as soon as the young one had taken 
her place, sat down by the side of the nest, and shortly after died. 
As the young goose had never entered the kitchen before, there 
was no other way of accounting for it than by supposing that 
the old one had some way of communicating her thoughts and 
anxieties, which the other was perfectly able to understand. 














THE CATACOMBS OF BENI HASSAN. 

IIAT the Egyptians exceeded all other ancient nations in 
learning, arts and civilization, is universally known. It 
was here that Homer, nearly a thousand years before 
Christ, gathered materials for song, and having refined and 
expanded his sublime genius with Egyptian lore, produced his 
immortal poems. Here Solon and Lycurgus found the arche¬ 
types of their celebrated laws ; here Pythagoras learned the 
principal tenets of his philosophy; here Plato imbibed that 
religious mysticism, those beautiful illusions, and those eloquent 
but fanciful theories, which characterize his works. Greece was 
indebted to Egypt, perhaps, for letters, and, undoubtedly, for the 
mysteries of religion. 

The polity of the Egyptians was equal to their skill in the arts 
[ 290 ] 









































THE CATACOMBS OF BENI HASS AN. 291 

and sciences. It is lamentable, however, to think that a people 
so wise in their politics, so conversant with science, and so richly 
endowed with general knowledge, should have been so grossly 
superstitious as to expose themselves to the ridicule of nations 
greatly their inferiors in general intelligence, and should have 
cherished the meanest and most degrading conceptions of the 
Deity. They not only worshiped him under the symbols of Isis, 
Osiris, and Apis —symbols which had not lost all trace of their 
philosophical origin—but they made a cat, a dog, or a stork, an 
object of adoration, and admitted into the list of their gods the 
very herbs of their gardens. Superstition is always intolerant 
and cruel; while it debases the understanding, it hardens the 
heart. Those who imagined that they found a type of the Divinity 
in an onion, perceived not his image in a fellow-creature! 

The vagaries of their religion were indeed amazing. Every 
priest was devoted to a particular deity, and to that only. Each 
temple was dedicated to some special divinity, as a cat, an ich¬ 
neumon, a crocodile, a hawk, a snake, an ibis, a fish, an insect, or 
an herb. Apis, the ox, was one of the leading divinities. Some 
of the temples whose mighty ruins still excite admiration, were 
reared only for the worship of brutes, birds, or vegetables! The 
adoration of these objects originated in some fancied resemblance 
they have to the heavenly bodies. The whole mythology was the 
work of the priests, who used religion as the means of exercising 
power and influence over the people. They were the richest 
members of society, and enjoyed a consideration only due to Deity. 

It is not to be overlooked, however, that, behind the strange 
idolatries which appear in Egyptian religions, there doubtless 
was, as there is in all other religions, a profound sentiment of 
faith in a future state of rewards and punishments, which exercises 
an influence over the conduct of men, and establishes a system of 
morals founded in truth and justice. 

The singular propensity of the Egyptians to decorate their 
tombs with the lavish splendor which other nations have reserved 
for the palaces and temples of the living, is one of the most 











292 THE CATACOMBS OF BENI HASSAN. 

strange and inexplicable phenomena in the history of man. Many 
of these highly adorned sepulchral chambers appear to be acces- 
sible only through long, narrow, and intricate passages. The 
approach to others seems to have been closed with the strictest 
care, and concealed with a kind of reverential sanctity. To each 
city or district belonged a city of the dead. In the silent and 
rock-hewn counterparts of Memphis and Thebes, were treasured 
up all the scenes in which the living king and his subjects had 
been engaged. Egypt is full of immense tombs, and their walls, 
as well as those of the temples, arc covered with the most extraor¬ 
dinary paintings, executed thousands of years ago. In these, the 
whole country-, with all its natural productions, its animals, birds, 
fishes, and vegetables, as avcII as the people in all their private 
and domestic occupations, are delineated, if not in the first style 
of art, yet with that which renders them still more curious and 
valuable—an apparent Chinese fidelity of outline, and an extraor¬ 
dinary richness of coloring. 

Among the numerous tombs and catacombs of Egypt, those of 
Beni Hassan are, perhaps, the most interesting. This village is 
situated on the right bank of the Nile, about 140 miles south of 
Cairo-, and nearly the same distance north-west of the site of the 
ancient Thebes. The entrance to the caves, of which an engraving 
is given at the head of this article, consists of an edifice resembling 
a Greek temple, though it must have been erected long before 
Greece had begun its career of civilization. The columns have 
sixteen sides, and arc slightly fluted ; they are sixteen and a half 
feet high, and somewhat more than five in diameter, with a slight 
lessening at the top. The structure has a general resemblance to 
the Doric order, and perhaps illustrates the origin of that style 
of architecture, afterwards developed in Greece. 

But the great interest of these remains lies in the pictorial 
representations left by the ancient Egyptians on the walls of these 
caves and catacombs, excavated in the solid rocks, and which were 
consecrated as burial-places. Rich as many of the temples are in 
the painted and sculptured delineations of the conquests of the 










293 



THE CATACOMBS OP BENI ITASSAN. 

Pharaohs, yet here, the arts, habits, and pursuits of the Egyptians 
in their social state, are delineated in outline and in colors. 
Here they are represented as occupied in their various trades, 
as potters, weavers, glass-blowers, jewelers, writers, statuaries, 
and painters. Their sports are shown in dancing, music, wrestling, 
in various attitudes, posturing and fencing, playing witli balls 
and at chess, and at the game of morra, as among the Italians 
of our own day. The chase of wild animals, fowling and fish- 
ing, agricultural, pursuits, planting, sowing, reaping, threshing, 
rearing cattle, and the management of herds and flocks, are all 
depicted. The caves of Beni Hassan have, in short, preserved 
the best, and in many cases, the only information we possess, of 
the manners, pursuits, and customs of the extraordinary people, 
who lived and flourished here, ages ago. It is indeed wonderful 
to see these generations, after a slumber of three or four thousand 
years, by the aid of these delineations, seeming to rise up in their 
graves, and thus in the house ol death, to engage in the various 
occupations, pleasures, and amusements, which occupied them in 
life! 


# 












THE TWO WINDMILLS. 

iWO neighbors, living on a hill, 

Had each, and side by side, a mill. 
The one was Jones — a thrifty wight, 
Whose mill in every wind went right: 

The storm and tempest vainly spent 
Their rage upon it — round it went! 

E’en when the summer breeze was light, 

The whirling wings performed their flight ; 
And hence a village saying rose — 

“As sure as Jones’s mill, it goes.” 

Not so with neighbor Smith’s, close by ; 
Full half the time it would not ply: 

Save only when the wind was west, 

Still as a post it stood at rest. 

By every tempest it was battered, 

By every tlmndergust ’twas shattered ; 
Through many a rent the rain did filter, 
And, fair or foul, ’twas out of kilter ; 

And thus the saying came at last — 

“Smith’s mill is made for folks that fast.” 

[ 294 ] 













V 



THE TWO WINDMILLS. 295 

Now, who can read this riddle right ? 

Two mills are standing on a height — 

One whirling brisk, whate’er the weather, 

The other, idle weeks together! 

Come, gentle reader, lend thine car, 

° Ji 

And thou the simple truth slialt hear ; 

And mark — for here the moral lurks— 

Smith held to faith, but not to works ; j 

While Jones believed in both, and so, } 

By faith and practice, made it go. 

Smith prayed, and straight sent in his bill, 

Expecting Heaven to tend his mill, 

And grumbled sore whene’er he found j 

That wheels ungreased would not go round. 

Not so with Jones — for, though as prayerful, 

i 

To grease his wheels he e’er was careful — 

And healed with ready stitch, each rent 
That ruthless time or tempest sent; 

And thus, by works, his faith expressed, 

Good neighbor Jones by heaven was blessed. 














MOUNT TABOR. 



HIS mountain, situated about thirty miles east of the 
Mediterranean, and a hundred north of Jerusalem, rises 
in a single hemispherical mound from the extensive plains 
of Esdraelon, the ancient Jezrael. It is about a thousand feet in 
height, and has a beautiful appearance from every point of view. 
Though it has a smooth, rounded aspect, from a distance, its 
surface is somewhat diversified, and in places is rough and rocky. 
It may, however, be ascended on horseback. 

The higher grounds arc covered with bushes and small oak 
trees. Among them, wild boars and partridges are said to find 
shelter. The whole is without inhabitants. At the top there is 
a small plain, on which arc the ruins of ancient fortifications. In 
remote times there was a town here, with strong defences. 
Antiochus, king of Syria, got possession of it, and after him, 
Vespasian captured it. At a subsequent date, Josephus fortified 

it with strong walls. 

[296] 









































MOUNT TABOR. 297 

The great interest, however, which attaches to this mountain, 
is that, according to tradition, the transfiguration of our Savior 
took place here, as related in the 17th chapter of Matthew. The 
place has therefore been regarded as sacred ground, and in the 
time ol the crusaders, as well as at subsequent periods, churches 
and monasteries have been erected upon it, the vestiges of which 
are still visible. 

Every traveler who has visited Mount Tabor, seems to have 
been highly gratified by the scene. Van Egmont says: “This 
mountain, though somewhat rugged and difficult, we ascended on 
horseback, making various circuits, in the space of three fourths 
of an hour. It is the most beautiful 1 ever saw as to verdure, 
being every where decorated with small oak trees, and the ground 
enameled with a variety of plants and flowers, except on the 
south side, where it is more bare and barren.” 

“ From the top of Mount Tabor,” says the minute and accurate 
Maundrel, “you have a prospect which well rewards the labor of 
ascending it. It is impossible for man’s eyes to have a higher 
gratification of this nature. On the northwest, in the distance, 
you discern the Mediterranean, and all around you have the 
spacious plains of Esdraelon and Galilee. Turning southward, 
you have in view the mountains of Gilboa, fatal to Saul and 
his sons. To the east you discover the Sea of Tiberius, distant 
about a day’s journey. To the north is that which they call 
the Mount of Beatitudes. Beyond is the green-capped chain of 
Anti-Libanus. To the southwest is Carmel; and on the south, the 
hills of Hermon.” 

In modern times, only a single event of importance signalizes 

this region. In the spring of 1799, the “ Battle of Mount Tabor” 

# 

was fought between the French, under Bonaparte, and the 
Turkish army. The attack was made by twenty-seven thousand 
of the latter, upon three thousand of the former, who had just 
marched out of the neighboring village of Nazareth, under com¬ 
mand of Kleber. Napoleon himself was on the top of Mount 
Tabor, when he saw the unequal fight, and rushed to the support 













298 MOUNT TABOR. 

of his troops. The fiery Murat joined the battle with his in¬ 
vincible dragoons, and victory speedily declared for the French. 

How strangely does this clangor of Napoleon’s glory, mingle 
in the scenes consecrated by the transfiguration of the peaceful 
Jesus ! What startling contrasts of historical association do the 
same places bring to view! 

• 
















THE PORCUPINE. 


the earliest ages, the Porcupine has attracted the 
'vj- ph attention of mankind, on account of the singularity of his 
covering, which, instead of hair, consists of sharp-pointed 
quills. As was natural, this creature has been the occasion of 
numerous popular marvels, the most prominent of which was, that 
it could shoot its quills, like arrows, to a considerable distance, 
thus inflicting severe wounds. Another story, told by Thunberg, 
and long credited, was that the Ceylonese porcupine used its tail 
quills, which arc hollow, in this wise: it would go to a brook, 
dip its tail in the water, and the quills being thus filled, it would 
carry the water and empty it in the nest for the benefit of the 
young ones! It is hardly necessary to say that both these talcs 
are without foundation. 

There are various species of porcupines, in different parts of the 

world, all being distinguished by the spiny covering, which is 

used as a defence. When threatened or assaulted, the animal 

raises its quills and runs backward against the enemy, and often 

inflicts severe wounds. The common porcupine of Europe is 

[ 299 ] 

















300 THE PORCUPINE. 

about two foot long, its legs being short, and its body low and 
squat. It is nocturnal in its habits, sleeping in its burrow during 
the day, and going forth at night to seek its food, which consists 
chiefly of roots, fruits, and tender leaves. Sometimes it enters 
gardens, and commits depredations among the cabbages and other 
leguminous plants. 

The Canada porcupine differs from the European one, being 
somewhat smaller, and living much upon trees. It is a sluggish 
creature, dragging its tail along upon the ground. When a man 
approaches, it makes a whining noise, like the crying of a child. 
It is killed by the dogs of the Indian hunters, but they arc often 
severely wounded by the quills, whose sharp barbed points, after 
entering the skin, work inwards until they reach a vital part, and 
thus cause death. These spines, which are easily detached, and 
probably by the volition of the porcupine, till the mouths of the 
dogs. The Indian women carefully pick them out, but if they 
neglect any, they are finally sure to prove fatal. 

This animal usually makes its retreat near the roots of an old 
tree, and here it spends a great part of its time in sleeping. Its 
flesh is relished by the Indians. The quills are dyed by the 
Indian women, and wrought into shot-pouches, belts, shoes, and 
other ornamental articles of dress. 











TEE OBELISK OF OK. 

IIIS obelisk and some mounds of earth, are all that now 
remain to mark the site of the once renowned city of On— 
thus named in the Bible, the Bethshemeth of the Hebrews, 
and the Heliopolis of the Greeks. It v r as situated in the Land of 
Goshen, about fifteen miles north-east of Memphis; five miles 
north-east of the modern Cairo, and fifty-two miles west of Suez. 

It was here that Joseph, when he was established in Egypt, 
about 1710 B. C., married Asenath, the daughter of Poti-phera, 
the priest, in the reign of Ossertasen I, the Pharaoh whose 
name is borne on this — the only obelisk in its place — now 
remaining, amid the ruins of the city. It is probable that this 

[ 301 ] 























302 THE OBELISK OF ON. 

patriarch often looked on this monument, and it is not improbable 
that it was erected under his superintendence. It is of red 
granite, sixty-eight feet high, and rather more than six feet square 
at the base — a portion of the latter being buried in the sand. 
It is covered with hieroglyphics, and is probably the oldest monu¬ 
ment, in a perfect state, now existing on the face of the globe. 

The city took its name from the worship of the sun, which was 
here conducted in a superb temple dedicated to that luminary. 
Herodotus speaks of the people of this city, as the most learned 
of the Egyptians: here Moses resided, and here he received that 
education which made him acquainted with all the wisdom of the 
Egyptians. Yet, notwithstanding it was the seat of the sciences, 
it was so filled with foolish idolatries, that the Jews named it, in 
ridicule, Beth-Aven—the house of vanities. 

In the time of Strabo, near the commencement of the Christian 
era, this great city was already in ruins, the schools of learning 
having been removed to Alexandria. It was, however, still a 
scene of interest; for here the most eminent of the earlier Greek 
scholars had come to acquire knowledge. The great temple still 
existed, and the rites were performed by the priests. The houses 
in which Plato and Eudoxus pursued their studies for the space 
of thirteen years under the priests, were still standing, and Avcre 
shown as objects of interest and curiosity to strangers. 

At the present time, the spot occupied by the town and the 
Temple of the Sun, is a ploAved field and a garden of herbs. The 
solitary but sublime obelisk we have described, is all that 
remains of this once renowned city. At a short distance to the 
north-east, are the ruins of several towns on elevated sites, tra¬ 
ditionally called “ mounds of the sun,” but their history is lost. 
One of these places was probably the Leontopolis, where the 
Greek or Septuagint version of the Old Testament was made for 
the Jews. 










THE BEE AND BEETLE 


BEE and beetle chanced to meet, 
f One sunny day, upon a rose ; 

His neighbor thus the bee did greet, 

Although, meanwhile, lie held his nose : 




Z 


© 


A 








m 


ek 


“ 1 wonder much to meet you here, 
For surely you* don’t feed on roses! 


The beetle answered with a sneer : 


“ I know the idle fool supposes 
That in a rose there’s nought but honey ; 

You think a flower so fair to view, 

With breath so sweet, and check so sunny, 
Is only made for things like you ! 

But, prithee, do not look so sour, 

A thing that hath a nose like mine, 

May turn the breath of sweetest flower — 

Of rose, carnation, columbine— 

To odors fetid as the air 

Where beetles love to delve and dine : 
Each has his gift for foul or fair— 

You, buzz, have yours, and I have mine!” 

[ 303 ] 




















SAINT GEORGE. 


SS AINT GEORGE, the patron saint of England, is familiar 
to all our readers as well by the legends which are current 
respecting him, as by the innumerable engravings which 
represent him as battling with the dragon. In Butler’s work, 
professedly devoted to the Lives of the Saints, we find that George, 
who is there called the “ Great Martyr,” flourished about the year 
300, and was one of the most illustrious of the martyrs to Christi¬ 
anity. According to this authority, he was born of noble parents, 
and after the death of his father, being strong and robust of bodv. 
he embraced a military profession, and became a tribune or colonel 
in the army. Afterwards he was promoted to high stations by 
the Emperor Diocletian, in consequence of his courage. But 
when that emperor began his persecutions against the Christians, 
the saint threw up his commission and complained to the emperor 

of his cruel edicts. He was then thrown into prison and put to the 
[ 304 ] 











SAINT GEORGE. 305 

torture; but as nothing could shake his constancy, lie was led 
through the city, and then beheaded. 

Such is the legend as related in the authorized “ Lives of the 
Saints now let us look at the veritable history. 

“ George, the Cappadocian,” says the Encyclopedia Britannica, 
“ was so surnamed, according to some, from his parents or educa¬ 
tion, and was born at Epiphania, in Cilicia, in a fuller’s shop. 
From this obscure and servile origin, he raised himself by the 
talents of a parasite ; and the patrons whom he had assiduously 
flattered, procured for their worthless dependent a lucrative com¬ 
mission or contract to supply the army with bacon. Ilis employ¬ 
ment was mean, and he rendered it infamous. lie accumulated 
wealth by the basest arts of fraud arid corruption ; but his malver¬ 
sations were so notorious that he was at length compelled to 
escape from the pursuit of justice. 

“ After this disgrace, in which he appears to have saved his 
fortune at the expense of his character, he embraced, with real or 
affected zeal, the profession of Arianism. From the love or the 
ostentation of learning, lie collected a valuable library of history, 
rhetoric, philosophy, and theology ; and the choice of the prevail¬ 
ing faction promoted George of Cappadocia to the throne of 
Athanasius, the Archbishop of Alexandria. Ilis conduct in this 
station is represented by historians as polluted by cruelty and 
avarice, and his violent death is considered as a just punishment 
for the enormities of his life. 

“ The immediate occasion of his death, however, as narrated 
by ecclesiastical writers, does not appear calculated to add any 
stain to his memory. There was, in the city of Alexandria, a 
place in which the heathen priests had been accustomed to offer 
human sacrifices. This place, as being of no use, Constantius 
gave to the church of Alexandria ; and George, the bishop, issued 
orders that it should be cleared in order to build a Christian 
church on the spot. In doing this, they discovered an immense 
subterranean cavern in which the heathen mysteries had been per¬ 
formed, and where there were many human skulls. These, and 
20 











306 . SAINT GEORGE. 

other things which they found in the place, the Christians brought 
out and exposed to public ridicule. 

“ Provoked at this exhibition, the heathens suddenly took 
arms, and rushing upon the Christians killed many of them 
with swords, clubs, and stones; some, also, they strangled, and 
then crucified. The Christians, therefore,-proceeded no further in 
clearing the temple ; but the heathens pursuing their advantage, 
seized the bishop while he was in the church, and threw him into 
prison. The next day they dispatched him ; and then fastening 
the body to a camel, they dragged it about the streets all day, 
and in* the evening burned the corpse and the camel together. 
This fate, according to Sozomen, the bishop owed, in part, to his 
haughtiness, whilst in favor with Constantius, and some think 
that the friends of Athanasius .were concerned in this murder ; 
but the former ascribes it chiefly to the inveteracy of the heathens, 
whose superstitions he had been active in abolishing.” 

Gibbon gives 'a somewhat different version of the affair of 
George’s murder. “ The Pagans,” says he, “ excited his devout 
avarice ; and the rich temples of-Alexandria were cither pillaged 
or insulted by the haughty prelate, who exclaimed in a loud and 
threatening tone, ‘ IIow long will these sepulchres be permitted to 
stand?’ Under the reign of Constantius, he was expelled by the 
fury, or rather by the justice, of the people.; and it was not with¬ 
out a violent struggle that the civil and military powers of the 
state could restore his authority and gratify his revenge. The 
messenger who proclaimed at Alexandria the accession of Julian, 
announced the downfall of the archbishop. George, with two of 
his obsequious ministers, Count Diodorus and Darcontius, master 
of the mint, were ignominiously dragged in chains to the public 
prison. At the end of twenty-four days, the prison was forced 
open by the rage of a superstitious multitude, impatient of the 
tedious forms of judicial proceedings. The enemies of gods and 
. men expired, under their cruel insults ; the lifeless bodies of the 
archbishop and his associates were carried in triumph through 
the streets on the back of a camel; and the inactivity of the 












SAINT GEORGE. '307 

Atlianasian party was esteemed a sinning example of evangelical 
patience. ♦ 

The remains of these guilty wretches were thrown into the 
sea; and the popular leaders of the tumult declared their resolu¬ 
tion to disappoint the devotion of the Christians, and to intercept 
the future honors of th&se martyrs, who had been punished,-like 
their predecessors, by the enemies of their religion. The fears of 
the Pagans were just, and their persecutions ineffectual. 

" H ie meritorious death of the archbishop, obliterated the mem¬ 
ory of his life. The rival of Athanasius was dear and sacred to 
the A'rians, and the seeming conversions of these sectaries’, intro- 
. duccd his worship into the bosom of the Catholic church. The 
odious stranger, disguising every circumstance of time and place, 
assumed the rank of a martyr, a Saint, and a Christian hero ; and 
the infamous George of Cappadocia, has been transformed into 
the renowned 1st. George of England, the patron of arms, of 
chivalry, and of the garter.” 

Such is history, compared with the legends of the church—such 
is a saint, stripped of the attributes with which the fictions of 
superstition have clothed him ; and yet, millions on millions have 
been baptized in the name of Saint George, and have regarded 
him as their patron in heaven, and their protector on earth! 















HABITATIONS OF ANIMAL 

TIESE are either natural or artificial, dispensable or 
indispensable, congenital or adopted; and every animal, 
regulated by its appointed wants, if not naturally pro¬ 
vided, seeks its asylum and protection accordingly. 

Snails and shell-fish are furnished by nature with a defensive 
covering, which is at the same time their habitation, and which 
they receive at their birth, and cannot, if they would, vary or 
forsake. It accommodates itself to their growth, and is at the 
same time sufficiently light not to interfere with the movements 
and functions of the animal. 

All the various tribes of shell-bearing animals, arc thus defended 

from the injuries or attacks to which their situation exposes them. 

These have a soft body, furnished with organs of different kinds. 

suited to their station and purposes. Those that arc below 

them in the scale, especially the naked polypes and gelatinous 
[ 308 ] 




















HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 309 

radiares, are still more frail and evanescent; but their organiza- 
(ion is so inferior that it is probably less subject to derangement 
from external accidents, or injuries are sooner repaired, than in 
that of the shell-fish, which, unless they were clad in some kind of 
mail, would probably soon perish. Accordingly, we find some 
protected by a multivalve tubular shell, the inhabitant protruding 
its organs at the summit, which is defended by an operculum, 
consisting of more than a single piece; in others, the shell is 
univalve, but the animal protrudes itself at the sides, and has no 
operculum, as in the common barnacle. Others, again, are pro¬ 
tected by a shell consisting of two valves, open at one or two ends, 
and these seek further protection either by burying themselves in 
the sand, or perforating the rocks, or by suspending themselves 
by a byssus; others again, which only open their shells at certain 
times, as the oyster, fix themselves to any convenient substance. 

To these succeed others, whose shell is transversely divided into 
many pieces, but yet, taken together, it forms a single valve, 
protecting the back of a gastropod, or slug-like animal, which, 
for further protection, when it is not moving, and to supply the 
place of a lower valve, fastens itself to a rock or other substance. 
There is, indeed, no end to the curious devices which nature has 
adopted for the protection of the various animals of these lower 
orders of creation. 

The chalk-like cases which the polypes, or coral insects, form 
round themselves, arc a safe retreat for the animals, into which 
they can withdraw. In one species, a remarkable arrangement 
is found: the upper openings of the cells which they inhabit 
have a vase-like form, shutting with a lid; when the animal 
wishes to expand itself, it opens the lid like a trap-door, and 
protrudes itself; and when it re-contracts itself and retreats, the 
lid falls, and closes the aperture so exactly that the animal is 
perfectly protected. A similar contrivance is found by the serpulae, 
and some gastropods. 

But with these, as with the molluscee and asterias, with the 
scales of fish and serpents, with the coats of mail and shields of 












310 HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

the alligator, the tortoise, the raanis, and the armadillo, this 
defensive covering—this portable habitation—is dependent on the 
bodily conformation of the animal, and not on its choice; and 
even in those cases where animals, like the spiders, spin themselves 
abodes, or contrive their webs for the capture of their prey, their 
acts arc subservient to instinct; and it is only in the more perfect 
stages of intellect, that natural materials, besides those proceeding 
from their own bodies, or the former exclusively, arc used. Some 
few instances occur of animals appropriating the empty shells of 
others to their own use, as the hermit-crab, which, having no shell 
to any part of its body, but the nippers, supplies by aid what fs 
denied to it by nature ; for, taking possession of the deserted shell 
of some other animal, it occupies that, till, becoming too large for 
its habitation, it is under the necessity of changing it. 

It is curious enough, in some countries, to observe this animal 
busily parading the sea-shore, along that line of pebbles and shells 
which is formed by the furthest wave; still, however, dragging 
its old incommodious habitation at its tail, unwilling to part with 
one shell, even though a troublesome appendage, till it can meet 
with another more convenient. It stops first at one shell, turns 
it, passes by ; then goes to another, contemplates that for a while, 
and, slipping its tail from the old habitation, tries it in the new. 
This also is found inconvenient, and it quickly resumes the old 
one. In this manner it frequently changes, till at length it finds 
one light, roomy, and commodious; to this it adheres, though the 
shell be sometimes so large as to hide both the body and claws of 
the animal. 

But many trials and combats arc sometimes to be sustained by 
the hermit-crab, before lie is thus completely equipped ; for there 
is often a contest between two of them for some favorite shell : 
they both endeavor to take possession, striking with their claws, 
and biting each other, till the weakest is compelled to yield. The 
victor then takes possession, and in his new acquisition parades 
backward and forward on the strand. 

That the ancients were well acquainted with the maneuvers of 









HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 311 

the hermit-crab, is evident from the following lines, translated 
from Oppian : 

“ The hermit-fish, unarmed by nature, left 
Helpless and weak, grow strong by harmless theft. 

Fearless they stroll, and look with panting wish 
For the cast crust of some new-covered fish; 

Or such as empty lie, and deck the shore, 

Whose first and rightful owners are no more. 

They make glad seizure of the vacant room, 

And count the borrowed shell their native home; 

. Screw their soft limbs to fit the winding case, 

And boldly herd with the crustaceous race. 

Careless they enter the first empty cell; 

Oft find the plaited whelk’s indented shell; 

And oft the deep-dyed purple, forced by death, 

To stranger fish the painted home bequeath. 

The whelk’s etched coat is most with pleasure worn, 

Wide in extent, and yet but lightly borne. 

Hut when they, growing, more than fill the place, 

And find themselves hard pinched in scanty space, 
Compelled, they quit the roof they loved before, 

And busy search around the pebbly shore, 

Till a commodious roomy seat be found, 

Such as the larger shell-fish living owned. 

Oft cruel wars contending hermits wage, 

And long for the disputed shell engage. 

The strongest here the doubtful prize possess, 

Power gives the right, and all the claim possess.” 

Of the cowries, a very remarkable fact has been stated by M. 
Bruguiere : that when the animals find their shells too small for 
the increased dimensions of their body, they quit them, and 
proceed to the formation of new ones of larger size, and conse¬ 
quently better adapted to their wants. As soon as the cowry has 
abandoned its covering, the hinder parts of its body begin to 
furnish anew the testaceous matter, which is afterwards condensed 
upon its surface. This secretion is continued, until at length the 












312 


II ABITATIONS OF A N IMALS. 


shell appears of the consistence of paper, and the mouth or 
opening of the shell, which at this period is very wide, soon 
afterwards contracts to its proper form and dimensions. The 
edges are thickened, and form into those beautiful folds, or teeth, 
which are so remarkable on each side of the opening of' these 
shells; and by means of the membranaceous wings of the animals, 
the highly-polished surface of the whole exterior of the shell is 
by degrees completed. 

Lobsters cast their shells annually. Previously to putting off 
their old one, they appear sick, languid and restless. They 
acquire an entirely new covering in a few days; but during the 
time that they remain defenceless, they seek some lonely place, 
lest they should be attacked and devoured by such of their 
brethren as arc not in the same weak condition. In casting their 
shells, it is difficult to conceive how the lobsters arc able to draw 
the flesh of their large claws out, leaving the shells of these 
entire and attached to the shell of the body. The fishermen say, 
that previously to the operation, the lobster pines away till Ihe 
flesh in its claws is no thicker than the quill of a goose, which 
enables it to draw its parts through the joints and narrow passage 
near the trunk. The new shell is membranaceous at first, but it 
hardens by degrees. 

Among those creatures which employ foreign substances in the 
construction of their habitations, there is a distinction : some 
occupy them for the period of their lives, like the ship-worm, 
that bores into the bottoms of ships and piles, which, on being 
split lengthwise, arc found full of large passages, or hollow, 
cylindrical ducts, each of which contains a worm, enclosed in its 
testaceous tube, which it exactly fills; and the dactyle pholas, 
which penetrates into rocks, and there forms a habitatipn, from 
which it never removes, and seems perfectly content with being 
enclosed in its own sepulchre; and the razor-shell, which burrows 
in the sand, sometimes to the depth of two or three feet, and 
never quits the burrow unless by force : others only seek shelter 
in these substances from time to time, these being their habitation, 






















HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 313 

in its strict sense. The first and simplest indication of this is 
found in the holes which snails prepare for their hybernation. 

Crustacea and centipedes conceal themselves chiefly under 
stones, many of the former digging little cavities in the soil, as 
the fresh-water craw-fish, which excavates a hole by the sides of 
streams. The land-crab, described by Sir Joseph Banks, which 
inhabits holes, has one claw of such disproportionate size, that it 
uses it to block up the entrance to its hole in moments of danger. 

Many spiders prepare a web for their protection, although the 
most employ it for predatory purposes, and some, again, envelope 
their eggs with such material; and hence Menge distinguishes it 
as residence, net, and nest. One of the most singular construc¬ 
tions belongs to the trap-door spider, a species of which is 
described by M. Audoin, under the name of pioneer. lie says, 
some spiders are gifted with a particular talent for building; 
they hollow out dens — they bore galleries—they elevate vaults 
— they build, as it were, subterranean bridges—they construct, 
also, entrances to their habitations, and adapt doors to them, 
which want nothing but bolts ; for, without any exaggeration, they 
work upon a hinge, and are fitted to a frame! 

The habitations of the -species in question are found in an 
argillaceous kind of red earth, in which they bore tubes about 
three inches in depth, and ten lines in width. The walls of these 
are not left just as they arc bored, but are covered with a kind 
of mortar, sufficiently solid to be easily separated from the mass 
that surrounds it, and as smooth and regular as if a trowel had 
been passed over it; this is covered with some coarse web, on 
which is glued a silken tapestry. If this passage were always 
left open, the spider would bo subject to intrusion and attack ; she 
lias, therefore, been gifted with the art to fabricate a very secure 
trap-door, which closes the mouth of it. To judge of this door by 
its outward appearance, we should think it was formed of a mass 
of earth, coarsely worked, and covered internally by a solid web, 
which would appear sufficiently wonderful for an animal that 
seems to have no special organ for constructing it; but if it be 















314 HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

divided vertically, it will be found a much more complicated 
fabric than its outward aspect indicates, for it is formed of more 
than thirty layers of earth and web, emboxed, as it were, in each 
other, like a set of weights for small scales! 

If these layers of web be examined, it will be seen that they all 
terminate in the hinge, so that the greater the volume of the door, 
the more powerful is the hinge. The frame in which the tube 
terminates above, and to which the door is adapted, is thick, and 
its thickness arises from the number of layers of which it consists, 
and which seem to correspond with those of the door; hence, the 
formation of the door, the hinge, and the frame, seem to be a 
simultaneous operation; except that, in fabricating the first, the 
animal has to knead the earth, as well as to spin the layers of 
web. By this admirable arrangement, these parts always corres¬ 
pond with each other, and the strength of the hinge, and the 
thickness of the frame, will always be proportioned to the weight 
of the door. If we examine the circular margin of the door, we 
shall find that it slopes inwards, so that it is not a transverse 
section of a cylinder, but of a cone; and, on the other side, that 
the frame slopes outwards, so that the door exactly applies to it. 
By this structure, when the door is closed, the tube is not distin¬ 
guishable from the rest of the soil, and this appears to be the 
reason that the door is formed with earth. Besides, by this 
structure also, the animal can more readily open and shut the 
door; by its conical shape it is much lighter than it would have 
been if cylindrical, and so more easily opened ; and by its external 
inequalities, and mixture of web, the spider can more easily lay 
hold of it with its claws. Whether she enters the tube or goes 
out, the door will shut of itself. These facts are so curious and 
wonderful, as almost to surpass belief, yet they are all well ascer¬ 
tained. 

The most powerful instinct which belongs to insects, is that 
which lias regard to the preservation of their species. We find, 
accordingly, that as the necessity for their preservation is of the 
utmost importance in the economy of nature, so for this especial 












HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 315 

object many insects, whose offspring, whether in the egg or larva 
state, arc peculiarly exposed to danger, are endowed with an 
almost miraculous foresight, and with an ingenuity, perseverance, 
and unconquerable industry, for the purpose of avoiding those 
dangers, which arc not to be paralleled even by the most singular 
efforts of human contrivance. The same ingenuity which is 
employed for protecting either eggs, or caterpillars and grubs, or 
pupae and chrysalides, is also exercised by many insects for their 
own preservation against the changes of temperature to which 
they arc exposed, or against their natural enemies. Many species 
employ these contrivances during the period of their hybernation, 
or winter sleep. For these purposes, some dig holes in the 
earth, and form them into cells; others build nests of extraneous 
substances, such as bits of wood and leaves; others roll up leaves 
into cases, which they close with the most curious art; others 
build a house of mud, and line it with the cotton of trees, or the 
petals of the most delicate flowers; others construct cells of 
secretions from their own bodies ; others form cocoons, in which 
they undergo tlieir transformation; and others dig subterranean 
galleries, which, in complexity of arrangement, in solidity, and in 
complete adaptation to their purposes, vie with the cities of 
civilized man. The contrivances by which insects effect these 
objects, have been accurately observed, and minutely described, 
b}^ patient and philosophical inquirers, who knew that such 
employments of the instinct with which each species is endowed 
by its Creator, offered the most valuable and instructive lessons, 
and opened to them a wide field of the most delightful study. The 
construction of their habitation is certainly among the most 
remarkable peculiarities in the economy of insects, whether they 
be the separate work of one individual, or the joint labor of a 
vast community. 

The structures of wasps and bees, and still more those of the 
wood-ant, when placed in comparison with the size of the insects, 
equal our largest cities compared with the stature of man ; but if 
we look at the buildings erected by the white ants of tropical 














31G HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

climates, all that we have been surveying, dwindles into insignifi¬ 
cance. Were our houses built according to the same proportions, 
they would be four or five times higher than the pyramids of 
Egypt, with corresponding dimensions in the basements of the 
edifices. The termites do not stand above a quarter of an inch 
high, while their nests are frequently twelve feet. Bishop IIeber 
saw a number of these high ant-hills in India, near the principal 
entrance of the Sooty or Moorshedabad river. “ Many of them/’ 
he says, “ were five or six feet high, and probably seven or eight 
feet in circumference at the base, partially overgrown with grass 
and ivy, and looking at a distance like the stumps of decayed 
trees.” 

The caddis worms live under water, where they construct for 
themselves moveable habitations of various materials, according 
to the habits, or to the substances most conveniently procured, 
such as sand, stones, shells, wood, and leaves. One of these grubs 
forms a case of leaves alued together longitudinallv, but leaving 
an aperture sufficiently large for the inhabitant to put forth its 
head and shoulders when on the look-out for food; another em¬ 
ploys pieces of reed, grass, straw, or wood, carefully joined and 
cemented together; another makes choice of the tiny shells of 
young fresh-water mussels and snails to form a moveable grotto, 
and as these little shells are for the most part inhabited, he keeps 
the poor animals close prisoners, and drags them along with him! 
But one of the most surprising instances of their skill occurs in 
the structures of which small stones are the principal materials. 
The problem is to make a tube about the width of the hollow of a 
wheat-straw, and equally smooth and uniform; and as the ma¬ 
terials are small stones, full of angles and irregularities, the 
difficulty of performing this problem will appear to be considerable, 
it not insurmountable ; yet the little architects, by patiently 
examining their stones, and turning them round on every side, 
never fail to accomplish their plans. This, however, is only part 
of the problem, which is complicated with another condition, 
namely, that the under surface shall be fiat and smooth, without 











HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 317 

any projecting angles which might impede its progress when 
dragged along the bottom of the rivulet where it resides. In 
some instances, where these little cases are found to possess too 
great a specific gravity, a bit -of light wood or a hollow straw is 
added, to buoy them up ! 

Fish, from the nature of the element they inhabit, and their 
power to migrate or to descend to greater depths, according to 
the seasons, do not, with few exceptions, attempt to form any 
artificial abode. The black goby, however, is said to form runs 
in the clay, in which it passes the greatest part of the year, secure 
from cold,* storms, and enemies. In the spring, it approaches the 
shallows, where it forms deeper channels, and deposits its spawn. 
The salmon also forms a cavity in the mud for the reception of its 
spawn; and the stickleback constructs quite an artificial retreat 
for rearing its young, consisting of grass, straw and earth. Other 
fishes scoop out places in the sand for their breeding grounds. 

Newts, frogs, and toads make themselves holes, in which they 
hvbernate, and to which they retreat'for safety while renewing 
their skin. Snakes and lizards also hvbernate in holes in the earth, 
and fly to the nearest in moments of danger. 

However great the skill of archi¬ 
tecture in insects, it attains, if pos¬ 
sible, a higher degree of perfection in 
birds, which employ almost exclusively 
foreign materials for the purpose, col¬ 
lected and adapted in the most artist- 
ical manner. There are very few 
which do not construct nests, as the 
cuckoo, and the cow-bird of America, 
which use the nests of other birds, 
and as, among the water-birds, the 
petrels and razor-bills, which deposit their eggs on the bare rock. 
Others of this race, like the puffins and penguins, excavate long 
burrows. The former, in the breeding season, visit several places 
on the British coasts, particularly the small island of Priestholm, 









318 HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

near Anglesca, which might be called Puffin Island, as the whole 
surface appears literally to be covered with them. Soon after their 
arrival, in May, they prepare for breeding; and it is said that the 
male, contrary to the usual economy of birds, undertakes the 
hardest part of the labor. He begins by scraping out a hole in 
the sand, not far from the shore; and after having got to some 
depth, he throws himself on his back, and with his powerful bill 
as a dicker, and his broad feet to remove the rubbish, lie excavates 
a burrow with several windings and turnings, from eight to ten 
feet deep. He prefers, when he can find a stone, to dig under it, 
in order that his retreat may be more securely fortified. Whilst 
thus employed, the birds are so intent upon their work that they 
are easily caught with the hand. Professor Hooker says: “ In 
one part of the island, where there is a considerable quantity of 
rich loose mould, the puffins breed in vast numbers, forming holes 
three or four feet below the surface, resembling rabbit-burrows, 
at the bottom of which they lay a single white egg, about the size 
of that of the lapwing, upon the bare earth.” 

The penguin, wdiose long and narrow bill seems less strong for 
digging than that of the puffin, contrives to form extensive bur¬ 
rows in the desolate islands it frequents. They select for nestling, 
a sandy plain or down, where they usually congregate in such 
numbers as everywhere to undermine the ground, so that, in 
walking, it is not unusual for a person to sink up to the knees; 
but if the penguin chance to be at home, she revenges herself 
upon the passenger who has destroyed her roof, by fastening on 
his legs and biting him severely. The species are so numerous 
on some of the uninhabited islands of the South Seas, on both 
sides of Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope, that Pyrard 
says, “ one cannot stir a step without crushing their eggs or their 
young!” 

The kingfisher also uses a hole for the purpose of incubation, 
but it is doubtful whether it does not select the old hole of a water- 
rat to save itself trouble ; it seems to indicate a dislike to the labor 
of digging, as it frequents the same hole for a series of years, and 








HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 319 

will not abandon it though the nest be repeatedly plundered. Up 
to the present time, more or less misrepresentation has been 
introduced into the description of this burrow. Gesner furnishes 
it with a soft bed of reed-flowers; Goldsmith says it lines its 
hole with the down of the willow ; and Colonel Montague 
asserts that at the end of the hole there is a kind of bedding 
formed of the bones of small fish, evidently the castings of the 
parent birds, mixed with earth. 

The burrowing owls, found in some of the milder districts of 
North America, are another and singular instance, from their 
inhabiting the same holes, and certainly the same villages, as they 
are termed, with the prairie-dog or prairic-mannot. The pelican 
tribe make a very artless nest from sea-weed ; and the same absence 
of arrangement pervades the gallinaceous tribes, including also 
the ostrich and bustard, both of which are content with merely 
scratching a hole in the earth, without even the addition of leaves 
or straw as a protection. The nest of the wild turkey is of a 
very simple structure, being composed of a few dried leaves only, 
but concealed as much as possible, to guard against the predatory 
attacks of the crow, and other enemies. 

The great majority of birds, however, 
build the most artistical nests, selecting 
situations according to their habits, either 
on the ground, in shrubs, in trees, on rocks, 
and even on human dwellings; and it is a 
received opinion with many, that the more 
perfect the nature of the bird, the higher 
from the ground is the nest constructed. 

The greatest variety prevails in the con¬ 
struction, and, without exception, the ma¬ 
terials consist of bad conductors of heat: 
thin twigs, grasses, fibers of plants, &c., 
lined with hair and feathers, and some few are formed of mud or 
clay. The shape is chiefly hemispherical, and rarely otherwise in 
this country ; Hill confirms this, and adds, that in the tropics 












320 HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

the nests of birds are more often spherical than in other countries, 
for two obvious reasons : for protection, namely, to the bird 
against the climate while sitting, and against the attacks of snakes 
and monkeys. And besides, the birds which build such nests 
breed in the season which intervenes between the spring and the 
autumnal rains, when the air is particularly charged with elec¬ 
tricity and subject to sudden changes of temperature, a condition 
particularly injurious to animals of dull respiration and of great 
excitability. The unhatched bird is in an inferior state of organ¬ 
ization, and therefore its existence is endangered by any strong 
electrical rarefaction of the air, and by continual atmospherical 
changes; but from the peculiarity of the materials employed in 
the nest, the eggs are, as it were, insulated and protected, and the 
act of incubation goes on in perfect security in the midst of an 
atmosphere loaded with electricity. 

The black-and-blue humming bird builds its nest of long grass, 
in the form of a retort, hanging from the top of a cane or bamboo: 
the entrance to the neck, which is a foot long, is from beneath, so 
that the bird has to climb up as through the nose of a funnel, and 
then both the situation and form of the nest protect it fully from 
snakes and monkeys. A species of oriole builds a similar nest, 
but with the entrance from above ;. such nests arc not unfrcquently 
seen on the further twigs of high trees, when the leaves, which hid 
them, have fallen off. The Baltimore oriole, seeking materials for 
its nest, when the women hang out their thread to bleach, perceives 
that this will suit it, and carries it off. Skeins of silk and hanks 
of thread have often been found hanging round its nest, but so 
woven up and entangled as to be irreclaimable. 

The long-tailed titmouse builds a singularly curious and elegant 
nest, of a long oval form, with a small hole in the side near the 
top as an entrance : the outside is formed of moss, woven or matted 
together with the silken shrouds or aurelia of insects, and covered 
all over with the tree and stone lichens, fixed with fine threads of 
the same silken material. From this thatch, the rain trickles off 
without penetrating, whilst from its similarity in color and ap- 









HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 


321 


pearance to the bark of the branch, or the foliage of the shrub on 

which it is placed, it is not easily dis¬ 
covered. The inside is thickly lined 
with a profusion of feathers, the soft 
webs of which are laid inwards, with the 
quills or points stuck into the outward 
fabric. But the most extraordinary per¬ 
formance is perhaps that of the tailor- 
bird. the description of which would be 
suspected as an oriental fiction, were 
not the authenticity placed beyond all 
doubt. This bird will not entrust its 
nest to the extremity of a slender twig, 
but makes one more advance to safety by fixing it to the leaf 
itself. It picks up a dead leaf, and sews it to the side of living 
ones, its bill being its needle, and its thread some fine fibers : the 
lining consists of feathers, gossamer, and down ; these slight 
materials, therefore, added to the weight of the bird, which is 
only three sixteenths of an ounce, are not likely to draw down a 
habitation so delicately suspended. 

“ Behold a bird’s-nest! 

Mark it well, within, without! 

No tool had he that wrought; no knife to cut, 

Xo nail to fix, no bodkin to insert, 

Xo glue to join; his little beak was all: 

And yet how nicely finished! What nice hand, 

With every implement and means of art, 

Could compass such another ?” 

It is in their nests that birds display the most striking and 
varied indications of contriving and judging, and, therefore, of 
thinking intellect; confined, indeed, in the extent of its operations, 
but resembling reasoning intellect, within this compass. The 
birds of the Indian climates are obliged to exert unusual artifice 
in placing their broods out of the reach of an invader. Each 
21 

















322 HABITATIONS OP ANIMALS. 

aims at tlie same end by different means. Some form their pensile 
nest in the shape of a purse, deep, and open at the top; others, 
with a hole at the side; and others, still more cautious, with an 
entrance at the very bottom, forming their lodge at the summit. 
This instinct prevails also among the birds on the banks of the 
Gambia, which abound with monkeys ancT snakes. Others, for 
the same end, make their nests in the holes of the banks that 
overhang the river. The lesser species, having a certain prescience 
of the dangers that surround them, and of their own weakness, 
suspend their nests at the extreme branches of trees. They are 
conscious of inhabiting a climate replete with enemies to them 
and their young—with snakes that twine up the bodies of the 
trees, and apes that are perpetually in search of prey ; but, heaven- 
instructed, they elude the gliding of the one and the activity of 
the other. 

The eagle has but one enemy—man ; and to secure itself from him, 
it seeks the most inaccessible rock, or the loftiest tree, on which to 
construct its nest. This is composed of great sticks, serving as 
rafters, united strongly together with smaller and more flexible 
branches, on which is piled a considerable quantity of brushwood, 
moss, heath, and even rushes, if they are to be found in the vicinity, 
forming a mass of four or five feet in diameter, and two feet thick 
without a hollow in the center. The birds use the same nest for 
a succession of years, and some of the species, as the fish-hawk, 
leave their breeding place in the autumn, like the English rooks ; 
and like them also, before departing, regularly repair their nests, 
carrying up sticks, sods. &c., to fortify them against the violence 
of the winter storms. This indicates a very remarkable degree 
of prospective contrivance, irreconcileable with the common 
theories of instinct. 

Not to multiply examples where all are wonderful, it is only 
necessary to turn to the swallow, whose mode of operation is so 
entirely dissimilar from all others. The crust or shell of its nest 
seems to be formed of such mud or loam as comes most readily to 
hand, tempered and wrought together with little bits of broken 








HABITATIONS OP ANIMALS. 323 

straws to render it tough and tenacious; and that the work may 
not, while it is soft and green, pull itself down by its own weight, 
the bird has prudence and forbearance enough not to advance its 
construction too fast. About half an inch seems to be a sufficient 
layer for a day, and thus in about ten or twelve days a hemis¬ 
pheric nest is formed with a small aperture towards the top, 
compact and warm, and perfectly adapted to its purposes. The 
shell or crust is a sort of rustic work, full of knobs and protub¬ 
erances on the outside, but the inside is smoothed with more care, 
and in some instances has even a glazed appearance. 

Some birds invade the nests of others and appropriate them; 
others, under a sense of security, or from some eccentricity of 
purpose, select situations the most singular, and at variance with 
their habits: thus a pair of swallows at Camerton Hall, near 
Bath, built their nest on the upper part of the frame of an old 
picture over the chimney-piece, coming through the broken pane 
in the window of a room, and using it for three years successively, 
till the room was put into repair and their future entrance stopped. 
Besides the many small rookeries which exist in gardens in 
London, there has been for several successive years a single rook’s 
nest in the tree at the corner of Wood-street, Cheapside ; and 
some years ago a pair of these birds built their nest on the top of 
the vane of the Exchange at Newcastle, and brought forth their 
young, undisturbed by the noise of the populace below them; the 
nest and its inhabitants turning about with every change of 
wind. This was continued for ten years, when the spire was taken 
down. 

A laboring man of the village of River, near Dover, reared a 
young hen-blackbird in the spring of 1844, and succeeded so 
perfectly in domesticating it, that it was allowed its full liberty, 
flying in and out of the house at will, and roosting in the little 
kitchen parlor. Early in the spring of 1845 it disappeared, and 
was mourned as lost; but at the expiration of a few weeks it 
returned, followed by a mate, which, encouraged by the fearless¬ 
ness and impunity of its partner, threw off some of its natural 











324 HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

timidity, and ventured to take its stand on the sill of the window, 
beyond which it never ventured. The hen bird constructed its 
nest in the room, hatched and reared its young ones, and at length 
flew off together with them. In the spring of 1846, it again 
returned under the same circumstances, the male bird frequenting 
its old position in the window, and again a nest was begun ; but 
the position selected on the little dresser between two plates, was 
so inconvenient to the woman of the house, that she deranged it; 
but it was of no avail, for that was the place decided on, and 
another nest was begun. The good woman took in washing, and, 
having occasion to go out for a short time, she left some lace she 
was ironing on the table. On her return, she found the lace had 
been appropriated by the bird, which had interwoven it beauti¬ 
fully in the nest, in which it was then seated. Loth to disturb 
her favorite, and yet fearful of being blamed by her employer, she 
went to the lady, and begged her to see the nest and to judge 
what was to be done. The result was that the bird was left un¬ 
disturbed, and reared its young in safety, the male bird assisting 
in the task of bringing food to the window, which the female 
received and carried to the nestlings ; and often, when picking up 
crumbs from the table, die would carry them to her mate, feeding 
him with the dainties he was afraid to take himself. 

The sociable grosbeak of Africa, is one of the few instances of 
birds living in community, and uniting in constructing one huge 
nest for the whole society. Le Yaillaint’s account has been fully 
confirmed by other travelers. lie says: “I observed, on the way, 
a tree with an enormous nest of those birds, which I have called 
republicans; and, as soon as I arrived at my camp, I despatched 
a few men with a wagon to bring it to me, that I might open and 
examine the hive. When it arrived, I cut it in pieces with a 
hatchet, and saw that the chief portiou of the structure consisted 
of a mass of Boshman’s grass, without any mixture, but so com¬ 
pact and firmly basketed together as to be impenetrable to the 
rain. This is the commencement of the structure, and each bird 
builds its particular nest under this canopy. But the nests are 









HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 325 

formed only beneath the eaves, the upper surface remaining void, 
without, however, being useless; for, as it has a projecting rim, 
and is a little inclined, it serves to let the water.run off, and pre¬ 
serves each little dwelling from the rain. Figure to vourself a 
huge, irregular sloping root, all the eaves of which are completely 
covered with nests crowded one against another, and you will have 
a tolerably accurate idea of these singular edifices. 

Each individual nest is three or four inches in diameter, which 
is sufficient for the bird; but, as they are all in contact with one 
another around the eaves, they appear to the eye to form but one 
building, and are distinguishable from each other only by a little 
external aperture, which serves as an entrance to the nest; and 
even this is sometimes common to three different nests, one of 
which is situated at the bottom, and the other two at the sides. 
This large nest, which was one of the most considerable I had any 
where seen in the course of my journey, contained three hundred 
and twenty inhabited cells, which, supposing a male and female 
to each, would form a society of six hundred and forty individuals; 
but, as these birds are polygamous, such a calculation would not 
be exact.” 

The mammalia which burrow, particularly those which not only 
live beneath the surface, but obtain their food there, form often a 
complete labyrinth of subterranean passages. Several of these 
construct a chamber or vault at the utmost extremity of the 
burrow, contracting the passages in the neighborhood of it, so 
that no animal larger than themselves can penetrate. Many 
have, besides the places which they usually inhabit, others which 
they can fly to in case of danger, as the fox, the beaver, the field 
mouse, the squirrel, &c., and additional outlets are also provided 
to facilitate the means of escape. Amphibious animals are mostly 
content with concealing themselves simply in holes, or with 
forming a subterranean passage of some depth, with one entrance 
in connection with the water, and with another on the bank, 
generally concealed by the gnarled roots of a tree or a thick 
bush : as is the case with the otter, and the ornithorhynchus of 








326 HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

New Holland, this latter forming burrows of from twenty to fifty 
feet long, with a double entrance. 

Many mammalia, as the pachyderms, ruminants, and the larger 
predaceans, have no habitation, as they are either secure from 
danger in their own' bodily strength, or because they roam so 
wide in search of food that a fixed home would be as impossible 
as useless; monkeys and sloths are equally independent of habi¬ 
tations, as they live entirely in trees; but the greater number of 
the rodents and the lesser predaceans, inhabit dwellings, which 
are generally most artistically contrived. Those of the beaver 
are familiarly known. 

Some animals and birds appropriate, and even invade, the 
dwellings of others. The bank-swallow frequently adopts the for¬ 
saken hole of the water-rat; the hawk possesses itself of the nest 
of the crow; and sparrows, not content with occupying by forc- 
stalment the nest of the swallow, will attack the rightful owner 
with a view to dispossess it. The shrew-mouse, unable to penetrate 
the hard ground with its weak feet, shelters itself in the runs of 
the mole ; and the martin not unfrequently seizes the nest of the 
crow or of the squirrel, and converts it to his own purposes. 

Most animals conceal not only their dwellings, but even the 
approaches to them. Wasps contrive a long, subterranean, tort¬ 
uous gallery, as the entrance to their nest; and the emmets, or 
jet-ants, form covered ways to the tree which they inhabit. A 
mason-wasp was observed on the wall of a house at Lee, in Kent, 
busily employed in excavating a hole in one of the bricks at a 
little height from the ground. Whether there might not have 
been an accidental hole in the bricks, before the wasp commenced 
her labors, is unknown, as she had made considerable progress in 
the work when first observed. The most remarkable circumstance 
in the process of hewing into the brick, was the care of the insect 
in removing to a distance the fragments which from time to time 
she succeeded in detaching. It might have been supposed that 
these fragments would have been tossed out of the hole as the 
work proceeded, without further concern, as the mole tosses above 













HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 327 

ground the earth which has been cleared out of its subterranean 
gallery ; but the wasp was of a different opinion, for it was pos¬ 
sible that a heap of brick chips at tiie bottom of the wall, might 
lead to a discovery of her nest by some of her enemies, particularly 
by one or other of the numerous tribes of what are called ichneumon 
flies. 

Most of the smaller birds conceal their nests in thick bushes, or 
cover them externally with a material of the same color as the 
surrounding objects. Ostriches conceal the position of their nests, 
by making a circuit when they leave or approach them ; and larks 
and nightingales neither fly to nor from their nests direct, but 
creep for some little distance through the grass and shrubs, as a 
blind. The wild turkey, some of the grouse and duck tribes, the 
moorhen, and others, when they absent themselves from their 
nests, cover them so completely with leaves and moss, that the 
most experienced eye cannot detect them. The fox, too, never 
returns to its earth in a straight line, and seldom commits any 
depredations in its immediate neighborhood, and further, never 
allows any bones or refuse to be seen about the entrance. 

It is interesting to observe that most animals keep their habita¬ 
tions perfectly clean, and this cleanliness extends equally to their 
bodies. Many insects and spiders are furnished with hairy feet, 
with which they brush themselves, cleansing them afterwards with 
their jaws; crickets and grasshoppers draw their antennae through 
their palpi to keep them in order ; the larva of the May-bug cleans 
itself with its tail, which has a little brush-like tuft. The middle 
claw of the goatsucker is serrated for the purpose of arranging 
the bristly appendages of the bill; and other birds preen them¬ 
selves with their bills, smoothing and cleaning their feathers. 
Deer, cattle, and horses, lick themselves ; and the cat wets its 
paws with its saliva, and rubs its head and those parts which it 
cannot reach with its tongue. Burrowing and climbing animals 
constantly clean themselves with their fore paws. The bat keeps 
the hair of its coat in order with its hind feet, and passes its 
tongue over its wings. Many animals and birds either bathe in 











328 HABITATIONS OF ANIMALS. 

the water or wallow in the same, and some of the former enjoy 
nibbing themselves against posts and trees. 

Bees are remarkable for the cleanliness of their dwellings; 
they are extremely solicitous to remove such insects or foreign 
bodies as happen to get admission into the hive. When so light 
as not to exceed their powers, they first kill the insect with their 
stings, and then drag it out with their jaws. But it sometimes 
happens that an ill-fated snail creeps into the hive; this is no 
sooner perceived than it is attacked on all sides, and stung to 
death. But to attempt to carry out so heavy a burden would be 
labor in vain, and therefore, to prevent the noxious smell which 
would arise from its putrefaction, they immediately embalm it, by 
covering every part of its body with propolis, through which no 
effluvia can escape. When a snail with a shell gets entrance, the 
disposal of it gives much less trouble and expense to the bees. As 
soon as it receives the first wound from a sting, it naturally retires 
within its shell. In this case, the bees, instead of pasting it all 
over with propolis, content themselves with gluing all round the 
margin of the shell, which is sufficient to render the animal for 
ever immovably fixed. 

An adder, which was kept for a considerable time in a box, 
took every opportunity to crawl out, in order to perform its natu¬ 
ral functions in a distant corner. Birds, with very few exceptions, 
preserve the greatest cleanliness in their nests, by throwing over 
the side the dung of their young ones, which, as they attain 
strength, protrude their bodies over the rim of the nest, and avoid 
all impurities within. 

Many burrowing animals, like the pole-cat and beaver, discharge 
themselves outside of their dwellings, and the former removes to 
a distance the excrement of its young; the mole sets apart a 
division of its run for its wants, and the cat and jackall bury 
their matter. 










the mosque op the sultan kaitbey. 


CAIRO. 



AIRO, situated on the east side of the Nile, seventy-five 
miles west of Suez, and one hundred and twelve south-east 
of Alexandria, is the modern capital of Egypt, and the 
second city of the Mohammedan world, being only inferior to 
Constantinople. It is the chief residence of the pacha, and the 
seat of government; nevertheless, its population does not exceed 
two hundred and fifty thousand. 

In comparison with Thebes and Memphis, Cairo is a modern 
town ; but, in reality, it is a place of some antiquity. It has been 
conjectured that it succeeded to the ancient Egyptian city, which 

bore the name of Babylon, but its recognized and authentic 

[ 329 ] 


























330 CAIRO. 

origin is referred to Goiier, a general sent by El Moez, the first 
Fatimite caliph, to invade Egypt. Having conquered the country, 
and thus established the Fatimite dynasty there, he founded the 
city of Cairo A. D. 067, which became, and has since continued 
to be, the capital. The sovereign El Moez, arrived with his 
court and the bones of his ancestors, from Cayrawan, near Tunis, 
where he had formerly resided, and henceforward made his new 
conquest the scat of his dominion. 

Viewed from a distance, Cairo has a magnificent appearance; 
but, like all eastern cities, its interior has a very different aspect 
from its exterior. It is, however, in all respects so unlike Euro¬ 
pean and American cities, that the traveler from either of these 
portions of the globe, is not only surprised but interested with 
every thing around him, as he enters the place. In the words of 
a British resident: “ Here, every thing is oriental; the style of 
the buildings, the shaded streets, the aspect and costumes of the 
people, the quiet and repose universally prevailing. No rattling 
of carriages and carts, no rushing busy crowds intent upon their 
various pursuits; but in their stead, the solemn camel and its 
patient little attendant the donkey, making their noiseless way 
under their burdens; the people gathering in groups around the 
doors of their cafes, chatting and smoking ; the shopkeeper list¬ 
lessly reclining in his stall; the sentinel half asleep at his post, 
while the guard within lie stretched in profound repose, all yield¬ 
ing to the influence of a climate as delightful as it is salubrious, 
and which fortunately acts to some extent as an opiate against 
the many physical as well as political ills the people are exposed 
to from a bad and rapacious government.” 

The city is enclosed by a wall, terminated on the south-east by 
a scarped rock, rising 200 feet above the level of the Nile, on 
Avhicli the citadel stands. The view from this is one of the most 
wonderful in the world, including the sublime obelisk of On, to 
the east ; to the south, the lofty quarries of Mokattem, with 
ruined castles, domes and edifices, above and below ; to the west, 
the aqueducts, mosques and minarets of Old Cairo, with the island 










CAIRO. 331 

and groves of Rhoda, and beyond, the pyramids of Ghizeli and 
Saccara. 

The walls, with the fortress, were either built or restored by 
Saladin, about the year 1176. There are four gates, celebrated 
for their magnificence. The streets are unpaved, and mostly 
crooked and narrow — being rather lanes than streets, according 
to our ideas. The great thoroughfares have generally a row of 
shops on eacli side, the upper parts being rented as dwelling 
apartments. The different nations, Jews, Copts, Franks, &c., 
occupy different quarters, though this arrangement is only a 
matter of choice. The Jewish quarter is noted for its filthiness ; 
the Frank quarter, where many Armenian and Syrian Christians 
reside, is superior to the others, in the width of its streets, and in 
cleanliness. There are several open squares in the city, that of 
Esbekiah being the finest, and surrounded by many of the palaces 
and best buildings of Cairo. Its center is laid out as a garden, 
and, as is the case witli some others, is annually overflowed by the 
Nile. 

The distinguishing feature of Cairo is its mosques, of which 
there are no less than four hundred — a fact which attests the 
intensity of the Mohammedan faith, which has led to such a pro¬ 
digious number of religious edifices, in proportion to the popula¬ 
tion. Many of them are of great cost and great beauty, regarded as 
specimens of Arabic architecture. The most noted one, El Azhar, 
or Lazarus, is in the middle of the most populous quarter. That 
of Sultan IIassan is the largest, and has the finest dome in the 
city. The principal door is of bronze, beautifully inlaid with 
silver. The body of the edifice is surrounded with a large square 
court, with shrines under fine, bold arches. This mosque is also 
celebrated for the loftiness of its two minarets, the variety of 
marbles used in its construction, and its arabesque ornaments, 
mosaics, and inscriptions. 

There are many other mosques which are noted, some for their 
antiquity, and some for their architectural beauty. Of the former 
is that of Taglioum, founded A. D. 887, nearly a century before # 














332 Cairo. 

% % 

Cairo was built; of the latter is that of Sultan Kaitbey, a sketch 
of which is given at the head of this article. The arabesque 
scrolls of the dome, wrought in rich patterns of tracery, the min¬ 
aret with its three successive balconies, adorned with arches, col¬ 
umns, corbels, and balustrades, all of such fantasy and design as 
Saracenic buildings alone possess in the same degree, are very 
striking. 

That portion of the city called “ Old Chiro,” is chiefly occupied 
bv Copts, and contains twelve Christian churches, some of them 
extensive and sumptuous. Here are the ancient granaries bear¬ 
ing the name of Joseph, a grotto, castle, <fcc., together with a ma¬ 
chine for raising the waters of the Nile into the ancient aqueduct. 
Boulac, the port of Cairo, contains the principal manufactures, 
and is the seat of trade. It is very dirty, but presents a busy 
scene attended with much noise, in which the people seem to find 
a special pleasure, forming a striking contrast to Cairo itself. 

Here, on the banks of the river, arc heaped up pyramids of 
millet, beans and corn—all the property of the government. The 
shore is lined with vessels of every description, discharging 
their cargoes or advertising for hire. 

Along the banks of the river, from Boulac to Cairo, for a dis¬ 
tance of some two or three miles, are seen a number of handsome 
palaces, embowered in groves of orange, sycamore and acacia, 
the most conspicuous of which is that of Ibrahim Paciia. This is 
built in the Turkish style, and contains many handsome apart¬ 
ments. Its extensive gardens and plantations occupy the plain be¬ 
tween it and the city. Toward the Nile the grounds are laid out 
in terraces ornamented with statuary, which give them quite a 
European appearance. 

Most of the higher classes of Turks, as well as individuals 
holding official stations, have their residences in Cairo, where 
they live in much splendor. Several of the public baths are 
spacious and highly ornamented, and some of the public fountains 
are on a liberal scale. With these marks of splendor, the prevail- 
■* ing character of Cairo is, however, that of meanness and poverty, 














CAIRO. 333 

the large mass of the people living in a state of depression 
which would make life a curse rather than a blessing, were it not 
that the softening effect of the climate produces a languor which 
reconciles the mind to poverty, ignorance and squalidness. 


















TDK RAT MOLE. 


THE ZEMNI. 

« HIS animal, wliich is commonly called the rat-mole, has 
some of the qualities belonging to both the rat and mole. It 
is a native of Southern Russia, and portions of Western 
Asia. It is of a gray color, tinged with a reddish brown; its 
length is eight inches, its size being almost equal to that of the 
common rat. It is destitute of a tail, that ornament so nearly 
universal in the leading species of the animal kingdom. 

Like the mole, it burrows in the earth, excavating long galler¬ 
ies, from which it seldom ventures. Its abode is usually chosen in 
fields, where it finds the roots of grass, upon which it feeds, and in 
pursuit of which it goes about boring the earth one or two 
inches below the surface — thus making an intricate net-work of 
tunnels in all directions. Its eye is extremely small, and so 
imbedded in fur, that the animal was long held to be altogether 
destitute of sight. It is excessively timid, but makes a vigorous 

defence, in case of attack. 

[334] 
























THE ZEMNI. 335 

There are several species of the rat-mole, some very peculiar 
kinds of which belong to America. Among these is the pouched 
rat, found in the northwestern states and in parts of Canada. It 
is about six inches in length, with a short naked tail, and a pouch 
or wallet, resembling the thumb of a lady’s glove, hanging down 
on each side ol its head. These arc used for collecting food and 
open into the mouth. W hen emptying them, the animal sits on 
its haunches and squeezes the sacks against its breast. When 
full, they have an oblong shape ; when empty, they arc drawn up, 
and have a flabby look, like purses of leather. 

We are told by Sir John Richardson, that these little sand- 
rats are numerous on the western coast of "North America, in the 
vicinity of Fort Vancouver, where they inhabit the declivities of 
low hills, and burrow in the sandy soil. They feed on acorns, 
nuts and grass, and make great havoc in potato fields, when they 
have an opporunity. They not only devour as much as they can 
swallow on the spot, but they fill their pouches, and carry the 
contents home to their burrows. 















THE LAPLANDERS. 


APLAND is the most northern portion of Europe, and is a 
desolate barren region, over which winter prevails for three 
fourths of the year. The summer begins in May, and ends 
in September. In the more northern portions, the sun remains, 
sunk behind the horizon for several weeks, during which time the 
cold becomes so intense as to reduce brandy to solid ice. At this 
time, however, the darkness is relieved by the brightness of the 
stars and the vivid corruscations of the aurora borealis. The 
twilight is also such that during several hours of each day, it is 
possible to read without a lamp or candle. 

In these regions, there is a race of people as peculiar as their 
climate. They arc extremely short of stature, not averaging more 
than four feet nine inches in height, if we include both sexes, 
lliey have swarthy complexions, black, coarse hair, wide mouths, 
hollow cheeks, and long pointed chins. They are, however, 
strong, active, and hardy, but arc generally short lived. They 
are, unhappily, noted for intemperance and dishonesty. 

The dress of these half civilized people, is of a very coarse tex¬ 
ture, consisting of a woolen cap, a coat, usually of sheep skin with 
[33fiJ 






















■ 

THE LAPLANDERS. 337 

the wool inward, a great-coat of kersey, or of a skin of reindeer, 
witli the hair outward. They have no stockings, but wear a kind 
of pantaloons of coarse cloth or tanned leather, fitting close to the 
legs. The shoes arc made of reindeer skin, the sole taken from 
the forehead of the animal, and the upper leather from the legs. 

The women dress in a similar manner, except with the addition 
of a few ornaments; some of the more affluent, however, wear 
mantles and aprons of Russia linen or cotton. When the weather 
is severe, they cast a thick hood over the head. 

The reindeer is associated with these people, as is the camel 
with the Arabs. Some of the tribes, it is true, live along the sea- 
coast and banks of rivers, subsisting chiefly upon fish, but the 
great mass of the people derive nearly their whole support from 
their flocks of reindeer. This animal is indeed suited to the 
country, and alone renders it habitable. 

So curious an adaptation of nature and providence, deserves 
particular notice. In summer, this creature feeds on the buds and 
leaves of trees, and in winter, upon the white moss, which he finds 
beneath the snow, by plowing with his horns, or digging with his 
feet. When the snow is too deep for this process, he feeds on the 
lichens which grow on the pine trees. In cases of extremity, the 
people cut down these trees to supply their deer with food. 

We may add to all this, that the reindeer is of a docile temper, 
and easily yields to domestication ; his feet are broad, and he 
travels on the snow crust without sinking in ; his flesh furnishes 
food ; his skin, clothing ; his muscles arc used for cords, and his 
bones are converted into spoons! 

But the greatest utility of the reindeer to the Laplander is as a 
beast of draught. Attached to a light sledge, these creatures will 
carry a man over the snow at the rate of ten miles an hour, or a 
hundred miles in a day. It is not uncommon for them to go a 
hundred and fifty miles in nineteen hours. Thus, the people, in 
their land of poverty and isolation, have a power of locomotion 
unknown to any other tribes, and only recently bestowed on 
civilized nations by the invention of railroads. 

90 

mJ 












« IIERE is something in the very air and aspect of this fish, 
which seems emphatically to declare, “ 1 am somebody ! 
And the truth corresponds to the boast. There arc few 
fishes that swim the sea, which can claim a more notable history. 

In the first place, this fish has the honor of having been named 
by the ancients Zeus—one of the titles of Jupiter ; besides this, 
it is supposed to be the fish out of which the Apostle Peter took 
the tribute money, leaving on its sides, in proof of its identity, the 
marks of his finger and. thumb, and which is to be seen in two 
golden spots, on every one of the species, to this day. 

John Doree is the theme of various pious legends, among which 
is the following : St. Christopher was one day wading through 
an arm of the sea, bearing our Savior on his back, when he 
caught one of these fishes in his hand. lie too left the print of 
his thumb and finger, and hence it is said the name is given, being 
an adaptation of the French word adoree. Among the fishermen 

of the Adriatic, this fish is called the gate-keeper,” in allusion to 
[338] 


JOHN DOREE. 













JOHN DO REE. 339 

the Apostle Peter, who is supposed to hold the keys of Heaven. 
It is also called “ St. Peter’s fish.” 

Besides all this, we are told that a celebrated English actor, by 
the name ol Quin, was very fond of this fish, and even journeyed 
from Bath to Plymouth to enjoy the luxury of feeding upon it. 

Such is the legendary history ot John Dorce. In more simple 
to ms it may be stated that it is a migratory fish, weighing from 
li\c to ton pounds; it is common in Europe, and well known and 
esteemed in the London market. Its general color is bright yel- 
1°" ’ f 10m which its name is doubtless derived through the French 
words, jaune (lores — meaning yellow golden. It keeps company 
with pilchards, and upon occasion, swallows a cuttle fish, with 
his long arms and sack of ink. Its ordinary food is the fry of 
other fishes, molluscous animals, and shrimps. 










FIGHT WITH SEA LIONS. 


PASSIONS AND SENSIBILITIES OF ANIMALS. 


Q^sS\ ESIDE the instinctive anger and rage excited in different 
On animals by combat with their enemies, they are subject to 
various passions, very analogous to those which agitate the 
human breast. A few anecdotes and observations in illustration 
of this fact, cannot prove uninteresting. 

,?0p. 

.Toy, like a sunbeam, enlivens the existence of animals ; and 
their susceptibility to its influence, particularly as regards the 
domesticated races, alleviates the yoke of labor, and even stimu¬ 
lates them in its performance. 

Who, in going abroad in the early morning, when the rising 
[340] 






















THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 


341 


sun is awakening the slumbering world, lias not been sensible of 
a gladness ol sound. The springs of life are touched, and all 
awaken to new existence and action. The cricket chirps, the 
grasshopper springs rustling over the sunny banks, and myriads 
of other insects, leaving their hiding-places, fly buzzing through 
the fresh and fragrant air ; thousands of voices are awakened in 
the woods, and high aloft, the lark is warbling forth its hvmn of 
praise. In all creation the stamp of joy is visible, in which even 
the inanimate portion seems to take a share : 

“Forth in the pleasing spring 
Tliy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. 

W ide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm; 

Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; 

And every sense and heart is joy.” 

It is more especially by the voice that the tumult of joy is 
expressed. Among the insect tribes it is thrilling, as in the cicada? 
and locusts ; among amphibia, the frogs raise a chorus on still, 
warm evenings, which fills the air, now vailed with a thin gauze- 
like mist rising from their haunts. But it is in birds, and particu¬ 
larly in those of song, that this ecstacy is the most eloquent, 
whether when these arc careering in the air, shooting through it 
in all directions with the rapidity of an arrow, or wheeling high 
aloft in mazy circles, like the rooks in the bright evenings of 
summer : these, the brightest ornaments of the creation to whom 
the sun gives life, are not only emblems of jov in themselves, 
but produce it in others. 

Among mammalia, the effect of joy is strongly marked. The 
horse neighs and snorts with delight when it rejoins its companion, 
and the dog is tumultuous in its delight when it sees its master. 
Savage animals in confinement have recognized, after an interval 
of years, the persons of those who have reared and fed them, and 
have exhibited the most marked symptoms of pleasure. 

The expression of joy is not confined to animals in their voice 
but shows itself also in the general movement of the body. Little 






























342 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

is generally perceptible in the expression of the face. An 
approach to laughter is only visible.in those monkeys which bear 
the greatest resemblance to the human form. The ourang-outang, 
when tickled, draws down the angles of its mouth and grins, 
uttering at the same time a grunting sound. The chimpansc tit¬ 
ters almost like a human being. Yet joy is not in all cases 
connected with the outward senses ; it is confined, in the lower 
classes of animals particularly, to the gratification of the appetite ; 
and in these it is found only as a sensual feeling, which no other 
excitement can awaken. But M. D’Obsonville, in the East 
Indies, kept an elk, from twelve days old, for two years. It 
always came when he called it. Leaving Sumatra, he gave it to 
Mr. Law, in whose country-house, being chained and alone, it 
became furious and dangerous. Some months afterwards, D’Ob¬ 
sonville returned, and went to it. “ It knew me afar off,” lie 
says : “ I ran to meet it, and shall never forget the impression of 
its transports and caresses.” 

Sir Georoe Davis had brought up a lion from a whelp, and at 
five years old, parted with it, as it began to be mischievous. 
Three years afterwards, he saw it in the Grand Duke’s menagerie, 
at Florence. Though then fierce to others, when Sir George 
appeared at the gate, the animal remembered him, reared up, and 
licked his hands. lie entered its den, and the lion threw its paws 
upon his shoulders, licked his face, and ran about the place, fawn¬ 
ing, and as full of joy as a dog at the sight of his master. 

A bullfinch, kept by a lady, became extremely attached to her. 
Her presence created a sunshine to him, and he sang and rejoiced 
with his whole heart when she was by, while he drooped in her 
absence, and would sit silent in his cage for whole days together. 
The lady fell sick, and was confined to her bed for a week, with 
so severe an illness as to be entirely disabled from thinking of 
the bird. At length, when she was sufficiently recovered to see 
him, she ordered his cage to be brought, and set upon the bed 
beside her. The bird knew her voice in an instant, though it was 
weak and low from fever. The cage-door was opened ; he uttered 











THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 343 

a shrill cry of joy, between a song and a scream, fluttered from 
her hand to her cheek, and fell dead ! 

|khu. 

This sensation can only be slight in the lower ranges of animal 
life ; for if it bore any proportion to the violence to which the 
higher arc subject, it is impossible to conceive how the polypi and 
many species of worms could endure such injuries as they suffer, 
without perishing. The polypi can be drawn back like a glove, 
cut in pieces, and pounded in a mortar, and yet live. The naiades 
can be severed into many parts, each of which will form a separ¬ 
ate animal, and the medusae, if deprived of a large portion of their 
bodies, wilt replace it, and live. It would thus appear that where 
nature has assigned so great a tenacity of life, and such slight 
powers of sensibility, the amount of pain must be proportionably 
small, as pain, in its intensity, acts prejudicially to life. 

This tenacity of life is less in the infusoria and the wheel ani- 
malculae. Pressure destroys the latter ; the smallest quantity of 
spirits of wine, or of acid, affects them, and if the measure be 
increased, it kills them. The least proportion of poison is sufficient 
to destroy them, and an infusion of strychnine added to a drop of 
water, is fatal to them, causing convulsions as in the superior 
animals. 

The molluscie contract themselves with a spasmodic action, if 
touched Avith violence, and the trodden worm writhes in agony. 

The assertion is altogether groundless, that insects experience 
no sensations of pain, although transfixed with a pin, and left till 
they perish from hunger ; for although in all probability they do 
not suffer pain during the latter period, there is no doubt but ihcy 
feel acutely at the moment of the transfixion. It is only necessary 
to watch the effect when a needle is thrust through the back of an 
insect, and it will be obvious that it makes many powerful and con¬ 
vulsive movements, indicative of pain, and not merely of struggles 
for escape. Butterflies pierced with a common pin, exhibit these 












344 THE PASSIONS OP ANIMALS. 

symptoms, and the spasms are repeated if a heated pin'be after¬ 
wards introduced. But still, as said before, much depends on the 
perfection of the organization ; and besides, the formation of 
insects is so peculiar to themselves, that we have no parallel in any 
of the other classes. 'Some of the animals in the class Vermes , 
may be cut and divided almost ad infinitum, and each part will 
eventually become a perfect animal. Some insects without this 
reproductive power, will bear dividing, and still continue to live, 
and perform most of the functions with which they arc endowed. 

The common dragon-fly will live for days without its head : 
and if, instead of the head, the abdomen be taken away, the 
animal seems to feel no material injury. This insect is of a most 
voracious nature, and has been known to feed under the follow¬ 
ing extraordinary circumstances : A gentleman being engaged 
in collecting insects, caught a specimen of the common dragon¬ 
fly, which he fastened down in his collecting-box, with a large 
pin thrust through its thorax, when, to his astonishment, he 
observed the dragon-fly holding in its forceps a fly, which was 
struggling for liberty. This it soon devoured, without exhibiting 
any sign of pain, seeming wholly unconscious of its own unpleas¬ 
ant situation, being still secured by the pin, before named, to a 
piece of. cork. When the fly was devoured, the insect began to 
flutter, and made several attempts to regain its liberty. The 
gentleman, greatly surprised at this incident, and willing to 
improve the experiment still further, caught another fly, which he 
offered to it. This was eagerly seized by the rapacious insect, 
and devoured with greediness ; and when its meal was finished, 
it began to flutter again as before. 

It certainly is not derogating from the benevolence so conspicu¬ 
ous in all the works of Providence, to conceive it probable that it 
has, with infinite wisdom, withheld from some of the lower classes 
of animals that degree of sensation so abundantly dispensed to 
others, filling the higher ranks of creation ; as from the habits 
necessarily entailed upon them, they are more likely to encounter 
accidents that tend to mutilate, than other individuals of finer 












THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 345 

powers of sensation. Thus we often see the earth-worm an object 
of contention between two birds, neither of which is willing to 
part with its prize, and in the scullle, the worm is frequently sep¬ 
arated into three parts, each of the birds flying away with a 
portion, and leaving the center part of the animal behind, which, 
if the situation where it is left be moist and sheltered, begins in 
a few days to repair its loss, and in a short time restores its 
deficient parts ; or if a worm be divided into two pieces, they 
will each in a short time, under favorable circumstances, become 
perfect animals. 

Now insects, the constant food, and the objects of almost unre¬ 
mitting search, by such a variety of animals, had thev the acuteness 
of feeling supposed generally to exist in all animated bodies, their 
lives must be a continued round of pain and watchfulness; not 
that it is possible to conceive, as we see from the writhings of a 
severed worm, that they are destitute of feeling, but their sense of 
pain is so blunted, as not to be of the nature generally under¬ 
stood by that term. That it is consistent with the beneficence of 
Almighty wisdom that these, his creatures, should experience 
pleasure, we feel convinced ; and with that mercy, so benevolently 
extended to all his works, he has kept them from experiencing 
those painful sensations which their rank in creation would subject 
them to, it possessed of the sensibility so evident in the mam- 
miferous class. 

The expression of pain is more marked than that of joy in the 
features of animals, and extends in some even to the shedding of 
tears. This has been noticed in the seal ; the giraffe, if separated 
from its companion, and the camel, if deprived of its foal, weep pro¬ 
fusely ; the elephant, and several of the monkey tribe, shed tears 
and the horse does the same, when violently excited or in suffering:. 

^trgrr. 

Fear and anger are not, properly speaking, independent feel¬ 
ings, but are rather the effects of a certain state of the mind. 











346 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

Anger is a sympathetic expression of the mind, called forth by 
some violence or opposition done to the feelings ; and being bound 
up with a burning desire to remove or revenge the cause, goes 
beyond mere feeling, by having the satisfaction of an object in 
view. 

In the lower classes of animals it exists in full force, and is not 
unusually attended with fear. The larva of the ant-lion struck 
gently, and without injury, with a stick, Hies for shelter to its 
hole, but driven from 1 lienee it becomes enraged, and attempts to 
seize the stick with its forceps. In the same manner, the anger of 
a snake is not unmixed with fear : if its passage be impeded, it 
elevates its body, hissing and projecting its forked tongue. If 
lizards be driven into a corner, from which there is no escape, 
they threaten with open jaws, and the large green variety will try 
to fasten on a dog. 

Many birds also become violently angry, on any attempt to 
touch them. The owl, on the appearance of any unusual object, 
ruffles its feathers, and hisses "and snaps with its bill. Birds of 
prey, herons and bitterns, defend themselves fiercely in the same 
way, and even the submissive goose runs hissing after intruders 
when accompanied by its young. Wrens and humming-birds are 
particularly remarkable for their anger and pugnacity against 
their own species, if they cross their path. 

Among the mammalia, the beasts of prey are the most subject to 
fits of rage. If a tiger be wounded in its flight, it springs furiously 
on its pursuers, and only relinquishes its attack with its life. The 
rhinoceros, with its head crouched, and its horn brushing the 
ground, rushes madly on its opponent. How fearful must be the 
engagement between two of the more powerful wild animals 
encountering in their rage! 

The following incident, illustrative of the anger of the elephant, 
occurred at Pelgoa Bay. A party of officers and men belonging to 
the British war-ship Leven, had been hunting hippopotami, and 
were returning along the banks of the river, when a rustling, as if 
of a hippopotamus, was heard amongst the reeds. Two of the offi- 












THE PASSIONS OP ANIMALS. 347 

cers, Messrs. Arlett and Barette, entered them, with a view of 
driving it out; the former gentleman was a little in advance, and 
eager in pursuit, when he was heard loudly to exclaim, “ Here he 
is!’ The shrill, angry scream of some large animal instantly fol¬ 
lowed, and in a few seconds, Mr. Barette rushed out with his face 
covered with blood, and calling loudly for assistance, as Lieut. 
Arlett was attacked and thrown down by an elephant. The 
party were immediately on the alert, in search of the unfortunate 
officer, whom they expected to find a mangled corpse. As they 
approached, the elephant, alarmed at the numbers, retreated, 
leaving his victim on the ground in a state hardly to be described, 
lie was stretched motionless on his back, covered with blood and 
dirt, and his eyes starting from their sockets, in all the expressive 
horror of a violent death. 

Every attention was paid to him, but it was long feared that 
life had fled. Some water was procured, when, after his face had 
been washed, and a little introduced into his mouth, he showed 
symptoms of returning life; but it was some time before he recov¬ 
ered his senses, and became sufficiently collected to give a con¬ 
nected account of the occurrence. It appeared that, from the 
thickness of the reeds, lie was close to the animal before he was 
at all aware of his situation, but immediately on making the dis¬ 
covery, he uttered the exclamation already mentioned. This had 
hardly escaped him, when he discovered that, instead of a hippo¬ 
potamus, he was almost coming against an enormous elephant. 

The animal, which appeared highly irritated at the intrusion, 
waved its trunk in the air, and the moment lie spoke, reared upon 
its hind legs, turned short round, and with a shrill, passionate 
cry, rushed after him, bearing down the opposing reeds in his 
way, while Lieutenant Arlett vainly attempted to effect his 
escape. 

For a short time he had hopes of evading his pursuer, as the 
animal perceived one of the seamen mounted on the top of a tree, 
about twenty feet high, and three in girth, menacing him by 
his voice and gestures, while preparing to fire. The elephant 












348 


THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 


turned short round, and shrieking with rage, made a kind of a 
spring against the tree, as if to reach the object of its attack, 
when its ponderous weight bore the whole to the ground, but 
fortunately without hurting the man, who slipped away among the 
reeds. The ferocious animal still followed, foaming with rage, to 
the rising bank of the river, the man crying loudly, “ An ele¬ 
phant, an elephant!” until closely pressed by his pursuer, they 
both came upon the top of the slope, when the party who had 
heard his cries were prepared, and instantly fired a volley as the 
elephant appeared. This made him return with ten-fold fury to 
Mr. Arlett, who in his eagerness to escape, stumbled and fell, 
the Inure beast running over him and severely bruising his ankle. 

As soon as he had passed. Mr. Arlett arose, and. limping with 
pain, attempted once more to retreat, but the animal returned to 
the attack : his trunk was flourished in the air, and the next mo¬ 
ment the unfortunate officer was struck senseless to the ground. 
On recovering himself, his situation appeared hopeless, his huge 
antagonist standing over him, chafing and screaming with rage 

o o 7 o o c* 

pounding the earth with his feet, and plowing it with his tusks. 
When the party first saw them, Mr. Arlett was lying between 
the elephant’s legs, and had it been the intention of the animal to 
destroy him, the placing a foot upon his body would in a moment 
have crushed him to atoms. 

Less intelligent animals, like the boar, dash blindly in their 
rage on the nearest person to them, while those with greater powers 
of instinct, distinguish and select the object of their vengeance. 

Animals of the most peaceful habits, like the marmot and the 
hare, give way to occasional bursts of rage; and the bat threat¬ 
ens with extended jaws and a sharp crv. 

Anger is much modified, according to age, temperament, sex 
and nature. Males in general, carnivorous animals, and such as 
are of a hasty disposition, and in the fullness of strength, are the 
most prone to anger. 

In some animals, the passion has no existence, as in pigeons 
and sheep, which submit passively to everything which may be 






















THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 


349 


done to them, without even uttering a sound ; but in these instan¬ 
ces, the feelings of fear predominates over all others. 

I lie display of the passions in animals in their wild and native 
state, has in it something both terrible and majestic, to which 
hardly any description can do justice. An American colonist 
says, that sitting one day in a secluded shady spot, his attention 
" as engaged by a strange sort ot rustling noise at some paces 
distant, and looking round, he beheld two snakes of considerable 
length, the one pursuing the other with great celerity through a 
hemp stubble-field. Ihe aggressor was of the black kind, six feet 
long; ike fugitive was a water-snake, of nearly equal dimensions. 
They soon met, and in the fury of their first encounter, appeared 
in an instant firmly twisted together, and whilst their united tails 
beat the ground, they tried with open jaws to lacerate each other. 
Their heads were compressed to a very small size: their eyes 
flashed fire ; and after this conflict had lasted about five minutes, 
the second found means to disengage itself from the first, and 
hurried towards a ditch. Its antagonist instantlv assumed a new 
posture, and half creeping, half erect, with a majestic mien, over¬ 
took and attacked the other again, which placed itself in a similar 
attitude, and prepared to resist. 

The scene was uncommon and fearful, for thus opposed, they 
fought with their jaws, biting each other with the utmost rage ; 
but notwithstanding this appearance of mutual courage and fury, 
the water-snake still seemed desirous of retreating towards the 
water, its natural element. This was no sooner perceived by the 
keen-eyed black one. than twisting its tail, twice round a stalk 
of hemp, and seizing its adversary by the throat, not by means of 
its jaws, but by twisting its own neck twice round that of the 
water-snake, he pulled it back from the ditch. To prevent a 
defeat, the latter took hold of a stalk likewise on the bank, and 
by the acquisition of that point of resistance, became a match for 
his fierce antagonist. Strange was this to behold : two great 
snakes strongly adhering to the ground, mutually fastened together 
by means of the convolutions which lashed them to each other, 















350 


THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 


and stretched at their full length, they pulled, but pulled in vain. 
In the moments of greatest exertion, that part of their bodies 
which was entwined, seemed extremely small, while the rest 
appeared inflated, and now and then convulsed with strong undu¬ 
lations, rapidly following each other. Their eyes appeared on 
lire, and ready to start out of their heads. 

At one time the conflict seemed decided ; the water-snake bent 
itself into great folds, and by that operation rendered the other 
more than commonly outstretched : the next minute, the new 
struggles of the black one gained an unexpected superiority : 
it acquired two great folds likewise, which necessarily extended 
the body of its adversary, in proportion as it had contracted its 
own. These efforts were alternate, victory seemed doubtful, in¬ 
clining sometimes to one side, sometimes to the other ; until at 
last, the stalk to which the black snake was fastened, suddenly 
gave way, and in consequence of this accident, they both plunged 
into the ditch. The water did not extinguish their vindictive 
rage, and they soon reappeared on the surface, twisted together, 
as in their first onset; but the black snake seemed to retain its 
wonted superiority, for its head was exactly fixed above that of 
the other, which it incessantly pressed down under the water, 
until it was stifled and sank. The victor no sooner perceived its 
enemy incapable of further resistance, than abandoning it to the 
current, it returned to the shore and disappeared. 

A raccoon having been one day lashed by a servant, would 
never forgive him. Neither eggs nor fish, of which he Avas very 
fond, Avould appease it. "Whenever the man approached, its eyes 
kindled ; it endeavored to spring at him ; uttered mournful cries, 
and refused everything, until the servant went aAvay. In the me¬ 
nagerie at Paris, a terrific combat arose betAveen tAVO black bears, 
confined together in one of the sunk fosses, and which at length 
terminated in favor of the strongest, who, after strangling his 
comrade, literally tore him to pieces. Guinea pigs are extremely 
irascible, and their manner of fighting is both singular and ridicu¬ 
lous. One of them seizes the neck of its antagonist with its teeth, 









THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 


351 


and attempts to tear the hair from it. In the meantime, the other 
turns his posterior to his enemy, kicks up behind like a horse, 
and, b) \\ ay ot retaliation, scratches the sides of his opponent 
■with his hinder claws, in such a manner that both are frequently 
covered with blood. 

The savage and treacherous disposition of the Cape buffalo 
render him particularly dangerous, He frequently conceals him¬ 
self among trees, and there stands lurking till some unfortunate 
passenger comes by, when the animal at once rushes out into the 
road, and attacks the traveler, who has no chance to escape but 
by climbing up a tree, if he is fortunate enough to be near one. 
Flight is of no avail : he is speedily overtaken by the furious 
beast, which, not content with throwing him down and killin<>- 
him, stands over him even for a long time afterwards, trampling 
him with his hoofs, and crushing him Avith his knees. lie not 
only mangles and tears the body to pieces with his horns and 
teeth, but likewise strips off the skin, by licking it with his tongue. 
Nor doe3 he perforin all this at once, but often retires to some 
distance from the body, and returns with savage ferocity to gratify 
afresh his cruel inclinations. 

As Professor Thunberg Avas traveling in Caffraria, he and his 
companions had just entered a Avood, Avhen they discovered a 
large old male buffalo, lying quite alone, in a spot that for the 
space of a few square yards Avas free from bushes. The animal no 
sooner suav the guide who Avent first, than, with a terrible roar, he 
rushed upon him. The felloAv turned his horse short round behind 
a large tree, and the buffalo rushed forward to the next man, 
and gored his horse so dreadfully in the belly, that it died soon 
after. These two men climbed into trees, and the furious animal 
made his Avay towards the rest, of whom the professor Avas one, 
who were approaching, but at some distance. A horse without a 
rider Avas in the front; as soon as the buffalo saAV him, he became 
more outrageous than before, and attacked him with such fury, 
that he not only drove his horns into the horse’s breast, but even 
out again through the very saddle. The horse was thrown to the 

















352 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

ground with such excessive violence, that he instantly died, and 
many of his bones were found broken. 

Just at this moment the professor happened to come up, but 
from the narrowness of the path, having no room to turn round, 
he was glad to abandon his horse, and take refuge in a tree. The 
buffalo had, however, finished ; for after the destruction of the 
second horse, he turned suddenly round, and galloped away. 

Some Europeans at the Cape once chased a buffalo, and having 
driven him into a narrow place, lie turned round, and instantly 
pushed at one of his pursuers who had on a red waistcoat. The 
man, to save his life, ran to the water, plunged in, and swam off: 
the animal followed him so closely, that the poor fellow had no 
alternative but that of diving. lie dipped overhead, and the 
buffalo losing sight of him, swam on towards the opposite shore, 
three miles distant. 

At Liverpool, as a carter was altering the bearing reins of the 
chain-horse of his lorry, the animal suddenly struck him to the 
ground with his fore foot, and before he could recover himself, 
seized him with his teeth and lifted him into the air. Tlis clothes 
gave way, and he was rescued from his perilous situation and 
conveyed home, fortunately with no other injury than some severe 
bruises. It was some time before the infuriated beast could be 
either approached or appeased. It was stated that this horse, 
about three years before, had killed a driver in a similar manner. 

Fear has its origin chiefly from some sudden and unusual 
impression on the senses; and when they are so violently acted 
upon that the active powers are not only shaken, but are even 
palsied, the feeling becomes one of terror, and thus animals, as if 
paralysed and helpless, stand rooted to the earth. Fear, as well 
as anger, has the greatest influence on the lives of animals, as 
aids and excitements for their preservation ; the latter urges them 
to offer resistance to violence and attacks, and the former impels 










THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 353 

them to shun a threatened danger by flight, which terror dis¬ 
qualifies them from attempting, and therefore has a fatal influence 
on their safety and lives. 

The fear inspired by ferocious animals is universally felt: the 
otherwise courageous elephant dreads the tiger, even when it is 
dead, and cannot readily be induced to carry one, particularly if 
in attack the beast has made a spring on its back ; this dread is 
not altogether dependent on experience, for oxen and horses 
brought from countries where no lions arc found, become restless 
and uneasy, when one approaches the encampment in the night. 

Le Yaillaint gives many interesting statements to this effect 
in his African expeditions, and often ascribes the safety of his 
camp to the exquisite scent of the cattle of his teams, for there 
can be no doubt, as he expresses, but that all savage animals emit 
a powerful smell. Mules also cannot tolerate the smell of a dead 
tiger, but bolt and flv in all directions, and according to a Hot¬ 
tentot declaration, the fat of a panther smeared on the trees, will 
drive foxes and other animals out of a district. A dog brought 
up to the newly-flayed skin of a lion, trembled violently, bristled 
up its hair, and drew its tail between its legs, and when its first 
alarm had subsided, it fled away, and could by no inducements be 
brought back. Poultry and pigeons forsake their stalls, if a 
martin has recently visited them ; and rabbits run wildly about 
their shed if the fresh taint of a fox is perceptible. 

Many animals are so extremely timid that they are alarmed at 
the slightest cause, and this occurs especially with birds: the 
peewit shrinks even at the rustle or passing flight of another bird, 
and all birds crouch and attempt to conceal themselves on the 
appearance of those of prey. The turkey, as well in the wild as 
in the tame state, utters on such occasions a peculiar note, and its 
whole brood disperses and conceals itself among the long grass » 
and leaves. They even stretch themselves at full length upon the 
ground, and continue motionless as if dead, and in the mean time 
the mother with her eyes directed upwards, continues crying. On 
looking up in the direction in which she seemed to gaze, the 

23 











354 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

author has discovered a black spot just under the clouds, but was 
unable at first to determine Avhat it was ; however, it soon 
appeared to be a bird of prey, though at first at too great a dis¬ 
tance to be distinguished. He has seen one of these animals 
continue in this agitated state, and her whole brood pinned down, 
as it were, to the ground for an hour together, whilst their 
formidable foe has taken his circuits, has mounted, and hovered 
directly over their heads ; at last, upon his disappearing, the 
parent changed her note, and sent forth another cry, which in an 
instant gave life to the whole trembling tribe, and they all flocked 
round her with expressions of pleasure, as if conscious of their 
happy escape from danger. 

Some animals, like snakes, arc held in universal dread, and not 
the least terrible is the effect produced by the rattle-snake. Mr. 
Pennant says, that this snake will frequently lie at the bottom of 
a tree on which a squirrel is seated. He fixes his eyes on the 
animal, and from that moment it cannot escape : it begins a 
doleful outcry, which is so well known that a passer by, on 
hearing it, immediately knows that a snake is present. The 
squirrel runs up the tree a little way, comes down again, then 
goes up, and afterwards comes still lower. The snake continues 
at the bottom of the tree, with its eyes fixed on the squirrel, and 
his attention is so entirely taken up, that a person accidentally 
approaching may make a considerable noise, without so much as 
the snake’s turning about. The squirrel comes lower, and at last 
leaps down to the snake, whose mouth is already distended for its 
reception. 

Le Yaillaint confirms this fascinating terror, by a scene he 
witnessed. He saw on the branch of a tree a species of shrike, 
trembling as if in convulsions, and at the distance of nearly four 
feet, ou another branch, a large species of snake, that was lying 
with outstretched neck and fiery eyes, gazing steadily at the poor 
animal. The agony of the bird was so great that it was deprived 
of the power of moving away, and when one of the party killed 
the snake, it was found dead upon the spot; and that entirely 









THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 355 

from fear — for on examination, it appeared not to have received 
the slightest avound. The same traveler adds, that a short time 
afterwards, he observed a small mouse in similar agonising con¬ 
vulsions, about two yards from a snake, whose eyes were intently 
fixed upon it; and on frightening away the reptile, and taking up 
the mouse, it expired in his hand. 

Terror depends materially on the nervous temperament of the 
creature, and the greater its excitability, the more powerful its 
effect. Darwin mentions a canary bird, which fell into con¬ 
vulsions whenever the drawer of its cage was removed to be 
cleaned. Horses confined in a stable connected with premises in 
a blaze of fire, arc so overwhelmed with terror that neither force 
nor encouragement can induce them to face the element and be 
led into safety. A herd of reindeer surrounded by hunters, or 
surprised by one individual in a spot where there is an echo, are 
so alarmed at the report of the fire-arms on every side, that they 
are unequal to flight, and are all slaughtered with case. 

Among the lower animals the lobster is remarkably affected 
with fear, its claws dropping off at the sound of thunder or the 
discharge of a cannon. Innumerable instances may be quoted in 
support of the paralysing influence of this feeling, the violence of 
which can be measured by no rule, since we know that in the 
human race it is sufficient to turn one man’s hair white, and to 
reduce another to a state of idiocy. 

But the effect of the human eye on animals, and the terror it 
produces, is not one of the least extraordinary facts connected with 
this subject. The ferocity of the Bengal tiger is subdued by it, 
and the lion is particularly unwilling to encounter man when he 
crosses him in the full blaze of day. Captain Head, in his 
“ Journey across the Pampas,” says that, “ the fear which all wild 
animals in America have of man is very singularly seen in the 
Pampas. I have often rode towards the rheas and zamas, crouch¬ 
ing under the opposite side of my horse’s neck ; but I always 
found, that although they would allow any loose horse to approach 
them, they, even when young, ran from me, though little of my 












356 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

figure was visible; and when one saw them all enjoying them¬ 
selves in such full liberty, it was at first not pleasing to obs.erve 
that one’s appearance was everywhere a signal to them that they 
should fly from their enemy. Yet it is by this fear that ‘man 
hath dominion over the beasts of the field/ and there is no animal 
in South America that does not acknowledge this instinctive 
feeling.” 

He adds, that a native was out trying to shoot some Avild 
ducks, and in order to approach them unperceived, he put the 
corner of his poncho over his head, and crawling along the 
ground upon his hands and knees, the poncho not only covered 
his body, but trailed along the ground behind him. As he was 
thus creeping by a large bush of reeds, he heard a loud, sudden 
noise, between a bark and a roar : he felt something heavy strike 
his feet, and instantly jumping up, he saw, to his astonishment, a 
large puma, actually standing on his poncho. The man was 
unwilling to fire, as his gun was only loaded with small shot: and 
he therefore remained motionless, the lion standing on his poncho 
for many seconds : at last the creature turned away its head, and 
walking very slowly away about ten yards, it stopped and turned 
again : the man still maintained his ground, upon which the beast 
tacitly acknowledged his supremacy, and walked off. 

A party in India were once saved from a tiger, by a lady open¬ 
ing an umbrella in its face as she saw it about to spring. 

The lion of Africa lives in the plains, and is always found 
where there are large herds of antelopes and quaggas feeding- 
together. To all these animals he is an object of unceasing- 
dread. It is supposed by the agitation which oxen display when 
a lion is near them, that they can scent him at a considerable 
distance. Whatever may be his physical strength, which is pro¬ 
digious, it is evident he could not accomplish his purposes by 
strength alone. The instinctive fear of the creatures upon which 
he preys would be constantly called into action, by their keen 
sight and acute scent; and as they would remove to some distant 
part before the destroyer could reach them, he therefore creeps on 































THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 357 

them, or, for a short distance, advances rapidly by great bounds. 

His roar is a sound of terror, and produces an appalling effect. 

The instant it is heard by the animals reposing in the plains, they 
start up with alarm, and fly in all directions. 

Ferocious animals are, however, themselves susceptible of fear 
under peculiar, and to them unaccountable, circumstances. Dr. 
Sparrman relates a story of a spotted hyena, to this effect. 

He says : “One night, at a feast near the Cape, a trumpeter, 
who had got himself well filled with liquor, was carried out 
of doors in order to cool and sober him. The scent of him 
soon attracted an hyena, which threw him on its back, and 
carried him away, thinking him a corpse, and consequently, a 
fair prize, towards Table Mountain. In the meantime, how¬ 
ever, the drunken musician awaked, sufficiently sensible to know 
the danger of his situation, and to sound the alarm with his 
trumpet, which he carried fastened to his side. The beast, as 
may easily be imagined, was not less frightened in its turn.” 

Captain Basil Hall, in his “Fragments of Voyages and 
Travels,” gives the following anecdote of a tiger kept at the 
British Residency at Calcutta: “ But what annoyed him far 

more than our poking him up with a stick, or tantalising him 
with shins of beef or legs of mutton, was introducing a mouse into 
his cage. No fine lady ever exhibited more terror at the sight of 
a spider, than this magnificent royal tiger betrayed on seeing 
a mouse. Our mischievous plan was to tie the little animal by a 
string to the end of a long pole, and thrust it close to the tiger’s 
nose. The moment he saw it, he leaped to the opposite side; 
and wdicn the mouse was made to run near him, he jammed him¬ 
self into a corner, and stood trembling and roaring in such an 
ecstacy of fear, that we wrnre always obliged to desist in pity 
to the poor brute. Sometimes we insisted on his passing over the 
spot where the unconscious little mouse ran backwards and 
forwards. For a long time, however, we could not get him to 
move ; till at length, I believe by the help of a squib, we obliged 
him to start; but instead of pacing leisurely across his den, or of 











358 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

making a detour to avoid tlie object of his alarm, lie generally 
took a kind of flying leap, so high as nearly to bring his back in 

contact with the roof of his cage.” 

» 

There are numerous accounts of animals, and even those of the 
fiercest nature, which have been so overawed by violent convul¬ 
sions of nature as to lose their natural ferocity, and to become 
peaceful and quiet, even in the presence of man. We are told 
that in the inundations which take place in India, the water 
sometimes sweeps over the land for many miles. On such occa¬ 
sions, serpents, monkeys, leopards, and birds of different kinds, 
usually hostile to each other, may be seen on a tree that stands 
above the tide, and all reduced to a state of peace by fear and 
anxiety. 

The human hair appears to be totally without sensibility ; nev¬ 
ertheless, the passions have over it such an influence, that the 
heads of people have turned white the night before execution. 
The French Revolution, which produced in abundance the ex¬ 
tremes of human suffering, furnished many authentic instances of 
persons that grew hoary in the space of a few days. Grief, as in 
the memorable history of Marie Antoinette, turned her hair gray 
in the space of one night; and terror, as in the case of a working 
man at York, produced the same effect instantaneously. This 
man was engaged in repairing the roof of a lofty building, 
when the ladder broke beneath him ; he clutched at the gutter, 
and hung from it by one hand ; assistance was rapidly brought, 
and he was saved before his strength failed him, but when he 
reached the ground, his hair was perfectly white. 

By whatever process this extraordinary change is effected, it is 
most certain that it is in full force as regards the feathers of 
birds ; for although not instantaneous in its operation, the action 
has taken place, and the result is shown when the season of moult¬ 
ing arrives. Dr. Young, in the “Edinburgh Geographical 
Journal, in speaking of the change of color in the plumage 
of birds from fear, says : “ A blackbird had been surprised in its 

cage by a cat. When it was relieved, it was found lying on its 













THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 359 

back, and quite wet with sweat. The feathers fell off, and were 
renewed, but the new ones were perfectly white. A gray linnet 
happened to raise its feathers at a man who was drunk. He 
instantly tore the creature from its cage, and plucked off all 
its feathers. The poor animal survived the outrage, and had 
its feathers replaced, but they were also white.” 

ylstomsbmcnt. 

This feeling operates slightly, in comparison to the former, 
on the nervous system and bodily powers. It arises from the 
appearance of something previously unseen, or whose properties 
are unknown, and of anything of an unexpected and unusual na¬ 
ture. Few animals, and, indeed, none but the most intelligent, arc 
capable of feeling astonishment. The lower and less endowed 
are indifferent to everything which does not endanger their safety 
and rest, or their means of subsistence ; for their estimation of 
things not necessary to their habits, is hardly possible from the 
limited development of their powers. 

It is probably first found in birds. Cranes, in their migra¬ 
tions, have been seen to be attracted by a fire, and to hover round 
it with loud screams. Among domestic animals, the cow is ex¬ 
tremely susceptible of the feeling on any alteration of her accus¬ 
tomed haunts, such as the change in the appearance of a building, 
or by the insertion of a new door ; which latter has been made 
the subject of a proverb in expressing a matter of astonishment— 
“ Like a cow at a new door.” Dogs are astonished at any change 
in the outward appearance of those they are familiar with, and at 
any strange object, encompassing it repeatedly, and smelling at it 
to discover its nature. They cannot recognize their master in 
the water, but swim round him, astonished at hearing his voice 
without identifying him. The monkey and cat beholding them¬ 
selves in a mirror, are astonished at the reflection, and seek in 
vain for the figure represented. A dog chasing a raven, fled with 








360 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

astonishment as the bird faced it, and uttered the words it had 
been taught. 

M. Sonini says : “ One day, as I was meditating in a garden, 

I stopped near a hedge. A jackall, hearing no noise, was coming 
through the hedge towards me ; and when he had cleared himself, 
was just at my feet. On perceiving me, he was seized with such 
astonishment that he remained motionless for some seconds, with¬ 
out even attempting to escape, his eyes fixed steadily on me. 
Perplexity was painted in his countenance, with a degree of 
expression of which I would not have supposed him susceptible, 
and which denoted great delicacy of instinct. On my part, I was 
afraid to move, lest I should put an end to this situation, which 
afforded me much pleasure. 

“ At length, after he had taken a few steps, first towards one 
side, and then the other, as if so confused as not to know which 
way to get off, and keeping his eyes still turned towards me, 
he retired : not running, but stretching himself out, or rather 
creeping with a slow step, setting down his feet one after another 
with singular precaution. He seemed so much afraid of making 
a noise in his flight, that he held up his large tail almost in a 
horizontal line, that it might neither drag on the ground nor 
brush against the plants. On the other side of the hedge, I found 
the fragments of his meal ; it had consisted of a bird of prey, 
a great part of which he had devoured.” 

Sgmpatljg for Suffering. 

This feeling, so highly characteristic of benevolence, and of 
kindness of heart in the human race, is most powerfully felt in 
the animal world. It is less surprising when extended from one 
to another by those of the same species, but is particularly so 
when exercised between those of different habits and orders. 
There must exist a fellow-feeling, a knowledge of the suffering 
felt, and a desire to alleviate it: faculties so far exceeding the 
highest degrees of intelligence ordinarily ascribed to the brute 











THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 361 

creation, that it must be acknowledged that they arc endowed 
with powers in which instinct takes no share. A wounded crow, 
left in a field, is soon surrounded by its fellows, seeking to assist 
it; a swallow entangled in its nest by a bit of thread, was imme¬ 
diately aided by many other swallows, which flew violently against 
the thread with the view of breaking it. 

There is an anecdote told at the Red Lion Inn, Hungerford, of 
a circumstance which occurred there some years ago. A traveler, 
coming into the inn-yard with his chaise, ran over and bruised 
the leg of a Newfoundland dog, and while the injury was being 
examined, a raven stood by as a concerned spectator ; for as soon 
as the dog was tied up under the manger, the raven not only 
visited him, but brought him bones, and attended him with par¬ 
ticular and repeated marks of kindness. Besides the sympathy in 
the bird, there was a remarkable instance of recollection and 
of association of ideas, for the bird had been brought up with 
another dog, between whom and himself there was a mutual affec¬ 
tion. This dog having broken its leg, the raven attended it con¬ 
stantly while it was confined, waiting on it, carrying it provisions, 
and never scarcely leaving it. On one occasion, when the stable 
door had been shut, and the raven had been deprived of the 
company of its friend all night, the hostler found in the morning 
the door so pecked away, that, had it not been opened, the raven 
would have made its entrance in another hour. Several other 
acts of kindness to dogs have been noticed, and particularly to 
maimed and wounded ones. 

When a pig is caught in a gate, or suffers from any domestic 
operation, all the rest are seen to gather round it, to lend their 
fruitless assistance, and to sympathize with its sufferings. When 
the old starved elephant, which Bishop Heber saw, fell down, 
another elephant of very large size, and in somewhat better plight, 
was brought to assist. “ I was much struck,” says the bishop, 

“ with the almost human expression of surprise, alarm, and perplex¬ 
ity in his countenance, when he approached his fallen companion. 

They fastened a chain round his neck and the body of the sick 













362 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

beast, and urged him in all ways, by encouragement and blows, to 
drag him up, even thrusting spears into his flanks. He pulled 
stoutly for a minute, but on the first groan his companion gave, he 
stopped short, turned fiercely round with a loud roar, and with 
his trunk and fore feet began to attempt to loosen the chain from 
his neck.” The sympathy of the animal for his suffering fellow, 
was greater than his habitual obedience. 

Elephants accommodate themselves to circumstances, in even a 
more extraordinary manner than such a refusal as this to perform 
a disagreeable task. The Baron De Lauriston states that lie 
was at Lucknow when an epidemic distemper was raging, and 
when the road to the palace was covered with the sick and the 
dying. The Nabob came out upon his elephant. His slaves, 
regardless of their unhappy fellow-creatures, made no attempt to 
clear the road; but the more charitable beast, without any com¬ 
mand, lifted some out of the way with his trunk, and stepped so 
carefully among the rest, that none were hurt. 

Another extraordinary instance of sympathetic intelligence, is 
recorded upon the authority of an artillery officer who witnessed 
the transaction: “ The battering train going to the siege of 
Seringapatam, had to cross the sandy bed of a river, that resembled 
other rivers of the East, which leave, during the summer season, 
but a small stream of water running through them, though their 
beds are mostly of considerable breadth, very heavy for draught, 
and abounding in quicksands. It happened that an artilleryman, 
who was seated on the tumbril of one of the guns, by some acci¬ 
dent fell off, in such a situation that in a minute or two, the hind 
wheel must have gone over him. The elephant, which was 
stationed behind the gun, perceiving the predicament in which 
the*man was, instantly, without any warning from its keepers, 
lilted up the wheel with its trunk, and kept it suspended till the 
carriage had passed clear of him.” 

Captain Hugh Crow, in the “Narrative of his Life,” relates an 
interesting tale of the conduct of some monkeys on board his ship. 
He says : “We had several monkeys on board ; they were of 










THE PASSIONS OP ANIMALS. 363 

different species and sizes, and amongst them was a beautiful 
little creature, the body of which was about ten inches or a foot 
in length, and about the circumference of a common drinking: 
glass. This interesting little animal, which, when I received it 
from the Governor ot the Island of St. Thomas, diverted me bv 
its innocent gambols, became afflicted by the malady which un¬ 
fortunately prevailed in the ship. It had always been a favorite 
with the other monkeys, who seemed to regard it as the last-born, 
and the pet ot the family ; and they granted it many indulgences 
which they seldom conceded to one another. It was very tractable 
and gentle in its temper, and never took advantage of the par¬ 
tiality shown to it. From the moment it was taken ill, their 
attention and care of it were redoubled ; and it was truly affecting 
and interesting to see with what anxiety and tenderness they 
tended and nursed the little creature. 

“ A struggle frequently ensued among them for priority in 
these offices of affection; and some would steal one thing, and 
some another, which they would carry to it untasted, however 
tempting it might be to their own palates. Then they would take 
it up gently in their fore-paws, hug it to their breasts, and cry 
over it, as a fond mother would over her suffering child. The 
little creature seemed sensible of their assiduities, but it was 
woefully overpowered by sickness. It would sometimes come to 
me, and look me pitifully in the face, and moan and cry like an 
infant, as if it besought me to give it relief, and we did everything 
we could think of to restore it to health ; but in spite of the 
united attentions of its kindred tribes and ourselves, the interest¬ 
ing little creature did not long survive.” 

Tavernier informs us, that as he was himself traveling in the 

East Indies, in company with the English President, several large 
apes were observed upon the trees around them. The President 
was so much amused that he ordered his carriage to be stopped, 
and desired Tavernier to shoot one of them. The attendants, 
who were well acquainted with the habits of the animals, begged 
him to desist, lest those that escaped might do them some injury in 












364 


THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 


revenge for the death of a companion. Being, however, still 
requested, he killed a female, which fell among the branches, 
letting her little ones, that clung to her neck, fall. In an instant 
all the remaining apes, to the number of sixty or upwards, 
descended in fury, and, as many as could, leaped upon the Presi¬ 
dent’s coach, where they would soon have strangled him had not 
the blinds been immediately closed, and the number of attendants 
so great as, though not without difficulty, to drive them off. 
They, however, continued to run after the servants for at least 
three miles from the place where their companion was slain. 

Dr. Percival, in his “ Dissertations,” speaks of the sympathy 
and sagacity of some rooks: “ A large colony of these had sub¬ 
sisted many years in a grove, on the banks of the Irwell, near 
Manchester. One serene evening I placed myself within the view 
of it, and marked with attention the various labors, pastimes, and 
evolutions of this crowded society. The idle members amused 
themselves with chasing each other through endless mazes; and, 
in their flight, they made the air sound with an infinitude of 
discordant noises. In the midst of these playful exertions, it 
unfortunately happened that one rook, by a sudden turn, struck 
his beak against the wing of another. The sufferer instantly fell 
into the river. A general cry of distress ensued. The birds 
hovered, with every expression of anxiety, over their distressed 
companion. Animated by their sympathy, and, perhaps, by the 
language of counsel known to themselves, he.sprang into the air, 
and, by one strong effort, reached the point of a rock which pro¬ 
jected into the water. The joy became loud and universal; but, 
alas! it was soon changed into lamentation; for the poor wounded 
bird, in attempting to fly towards its nest, dropped into the river 
and was drowned, amidst the moans of its whole fraternity.” 

cfcUofoslnp of |og, Compassion. 

These two feelings exist only in the higher order of animals; 
and with them, as with man. the former, as the higher virtue, is 










THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 365 

more rare than the latter. Fellowship of joy is entirely of a 
selfish character, arising from circumstances in which we ourselves 
are intimately connected, and of this many animals are equally 
susceptible; but it is principally associated with feelings of gluttony 
and sportive pleasures, and is only recognisable as a superior 
potentiality when combined with affection towards the offspring. 
Thus, animals chase each other in sport, play with and excite each 
other to gambol, as we see in horses, dogs, and in birds living in 
communities. But still this fellowship is, in fact, a human virtue, 
which in its higher attributes is not often to be met with, and 
hence must not be considered as proper to the animal race. 

Compassion is of more ordinary occurrence. It is only neces¬ 
sary to particularize a few instances ; for as all fellow-feeling 
awakens the impulse to assist in, and to administer to, the wants 
of others, we should have to revert to sympathy for its origin. 
It is compassion, then, that induces one animal to adopt the young 
of another, not for its own relief, when its own have been destroyed, 
as not unfrequently happens, but when it has its own to nourish 
and protect. And further still, caged birds have been known to 
feed the helpless nestlings of others introduced to them. 

A wounded monkey has been seen to be dragged away by its 
companions, and elephants caught in pitfalls have been liberated 
by others. If a chamois doe be killed with a young one at its 
side, it is affirmed by the Tyrolese hunters that others of the flock 
adopt it. Terns hover round and are loth to quit one that has 
been shot; and Inglis relates that if a pair of old swallows be 
shot, the young are attended to and reared by others. Some 
traces of compassion are also to be met with in the insect tribes, 
particularly among those which live in societies. Latreille 
amputated the antennas of an ant, and others came immediately 
and caressed it. Cattle finding another in a ditch, have been 
seen to express their anxiety in the most marked manner, and it 
is recorded that by their actions and hello wings they have induced 
people to come with assistance. 

A lady at Chelsea, among other birds which she kept, had a 










366 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

canary, which was a particular favorite, but the loudness of its 
note often obliged her to put it outside of the window, among 
some trees which were trained up in front of the house. One 
morning during breakfast, when the cage was thus placed, a 
sparrow was observed to fly round and round it, to stand upon 
the top, and to twitter to the bird within, between whom and 
itself a species of reciprocal conversation at length began to 
ensue. After a few moments he flew away, but returned in a 
short time, bearing a small worm in its bill, which he dropped 
into the cage, and again flew away. Similar presents were re¬ 
ceived day after day by the canary, from its kind friend the 
sparrow, with whom at length it became so intimate, that it 
very often received the food, thus brought, into its own bill 
from that of the sparrow. Some of the neighbors, to try the 
effect of the sparrow's benevolence, also hung their birds out 
of their windows, when, singular to relate, they were also fed ; 
but the first and longest visits were always paid by the sparrow 
to his earliest acquaintance. These attentions were continued 
daily for several months. 

<£n(w mtir (fruelfg. 

Birds have some little leaven of envy in their composition. 
Vultures drive each other clamorouslv awav from their carrion ; 
when the wood-pecker sees another hammering at a tree, it flies 
at it and attempts to dislodge it, in order to secure the insect 
within ; the petrels quarrel for their food so furiously and in such 
numbers, that they often allow themselves to be caught in the 
blindness of their rage; horses attempt either to drive each other 
away from the crib, or try to monopolize their neighbor’s measure; 
and dogs abstain from that which is entrusted to them only so 
long as they are unmolested, for as soon as they find themselves 
unable to defend their charge from other dogs, they fall to and cat 
it themselves. They are also envious of attentions and caresses 
bestowed on other dogs by their master. 









THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 367 

• 

A dog was trained by his master to execute several commissions. 
When he wanted him to go to the tavern, he made certain signs, 
which the dog understood, and immediately set off to bring home 
whatever the tavern-keeper put into the basket intended for his 
master. lie went on in this manner for some time without acci¬ 
dent : when one evening, as he was returning with some hot pies 
for his master’s supper, two dogs in the neighborhood, attracted 
by the inviting smell of the pastry, took it into their heads to 
attack the faithful messenger. The dog instantly dropped the 
basket, and placing himself before it, flew with determined courage 
at the lirst that advanced ; but while he was thus engaged in 
lighting with one. the other dog ran to the basket and began to 
devour the pies. This was an embarrassing case for the poor 
animal. After a moment’s reflection, seeing that it was impossible 
to preserve the pies for his master, he determined at least to have 
them for himself; and accordingly, without any further hesitation, 
he darted upon them and dispatched all that remained. 

As regards cruelty, the only real example of it is found in cats, 
and in animals of the weasel tribe, which cripple their prey to 
prevent its escape, and play with it in a living state for a con¬ 
siderable time. 

If we consider the instances of attachment, of cunning, fidelity, 
sagacity, gratitude, Ac., ascribed to many of the lower animals, 
as well as the difference between old and young in point of ex¬ 
perience and usefulness, we cannot refer them to instinct; for we 
find them so numerous and well-authenticated, and each individual 
action so diversified and adapted to times and circumstances, that 
if a man is beholden to reason for his power of adaptation, we 
must also admit that the brutes are likewise possessed of a degree of 
rationality. As far as we are enabled to judge of the uniformity 
of instinct, and of the power of the natural senses, these instances 
of sagacity belong neither to one nor the other; consequently, 
they must belong to reason, or to that intermediate power which 
compares and combines, adapting means to ends, and varying 
these means according to emergencies ; for, supposing the highest 















368 THE PASSIONS OF ANIMALS. 

order of brutes are conscious of tlieir acts, they can be classed 
with no other operations of the mind, with which we are ac¬ 
quainted. 

Yet it would appear, that all the acts of apparent reasoning in 
the lower animals hare reference to some immediate object of 
perception, or depend on the faculty of memory, as they seem to 
be nearly incapable of forming any abstract notions or specula¬ 
tions apart from sensible objects; and the want of articulate 
language must ever oppose an insurmountable barrier to their 
progress in acquired knowledge, beyond the merest individual 
experience. Of simple acts of comparison between a few ideas, 
we have numberless examples in the brute creation, as well as of 
their using means to attain their ends. 

It is obvious that instinct acts more immediately and deter- 
minately on the lower animals, like the appetites in man, for the 
preservation of the individual, and the multiplication of the 
species. The lower animals have also their appetites ; but these 
are wisely placed under the government of instinct, while the 
appetites of man require the control of his higher principles. It 
is interesting, therefore, to trace the phenomena of the passions 
and perceptions of the animal world, of which it has been said by 
the wisest men, that the barrier between instinct and reason is 
too nice to be apprehended, and, as Pope expresses it, “ that these 
principles are for ever separate, yet for ever near.” 













jM a 11 K K T S 0 K X E I X X E W O K L E A X S . 


NEW ORLEANS. 


A~ZAHIS city is, in several respects, the most remarkable in 
' ^ this country, and indeed in any country. Its chief pecu¬ 
liarity is, that it is situated at the mouth of the largest 
river in the world, one which at the same time drains the most 
extensive and fertile valley found upon the globe. The result of 
this position is visible in the levee —a wharf running along the 
northern bank of the Mississippi — three or four miles in length, 
24 [ 369 ] 












































370 NEW ORLEANS. 

and presenting, in its ships and steamboats, and its pyramids of 
merchandize and produce, the most extraordinary spectacle of 
the kind in any part of the world. 

New Orleans is the greatest shipping port on this continent, 
and perhaps, in either hemisphere; and this fact is impressed 
on the mind of the beholder, as lie strays along the mart we have 
mentioned, and takes a glance at the acres covered with cotton 
bales, the innumerable barrels of flour, the countless sacks of 
corn, the enormous cargoes of whiskey, which line the shore. The 
forests of masts, streaming with the flags of all the maritime 
nations of the globe, and the multitude of steamers—huge arks 
as big as Noah’s—arriving and departing, snorting, puffing, 
fuming, and foaming, serve to complete the conception of the 
immense commerce which centers at this metropolis of the great 
Southwest. 

Another curious circumstance in this city is, that it embraces in 
its inhabitants, two distinct races—the old colonial population, 
and the new Yankee generation, born and bred since Louisiana 
became a member of the Union. Both of these divisions are greatly 
diversified. The original population was mainly French, but there 
was also a Spanish mixture ; and these two nations are variously 
blended with the negroes and Indians belonging to the colony. 
These constituted the indigenous inhabitants; the exotics are 
mainly Yankees, but with sprinklings of English, French, Ital¬ 
ians, Spanish, Germans, Greeks, Danes, Swedes, Turks, Arabs, 
and Chinese — of more recent introduction. 

New Orleans is divided into two parts, the Old and the New 
Town : in the former the houses, streets, and thoroughfares look 
like the suburbs of an old French city ; in the latter arc to be seen 
all the bustle, thrift, and movement of an American town. In the 
centers of trade, the costumes of nearly every prominent nation 
may be seen ; at the common markets there are black, white, red, 
and gray some speaking French, some Spanish, some English, 
and some Chinese ; and among this motley, group, speckled with 
every shade of complexion, every color of dress, every fashion of 
















NEW ORLEANS. 371 

costume, may be seen groups of Indians, men, women and chil¬ 
dren, dark-eyed, brooding and solemn, as the gypsies of the 
old world. 

Such are a few of the more striking characteristics of the 
Crescent City. 














THE FLYING FISH. 

« HIS inhabitant of the deep, is in no respect remarkable, 
except that it occasionally emerges from the water, and is 
seen sporting through the element supposed to belong to 
the birds. It is armed with scales, is of a slender form, and 
measures about twenty inches in length. Its pectoral fins are 
unusually long, nearly the length of the body. 

Nevertheless, this fish does not fly, properly speaking ; it only 
uses its wings like the flying squirrel, as a parachute ; that is, 
having attained an elevation by darting upward from the water, 
it prolongs its journey through the air by spreading out its wings, 
but which are not beaten like those of a bird. Bennet, in his 
“Wanderings in New South Wales,” says : 

“ I have never been able to see any percussion of the pectoral 
fins during flight; the most usual height to which they attain, is 
two to three feet, but I have known them to come on board a 
vessel at a height of fourteen feet or more. They have been 
well ascertained to come into the channels of a line-of-battle ship, 
which is considered as high as twenty feet and upward. But 
it must not be supposed that they have the power of elevating 

themselves after having left their native element; for, on watch- 
f372] 
















# 


THE PLYING FISH. 373 

ing them, I have often seen them fall below the point at which 
they first rose from the water, but never, in any one instance, 
could I observe them to raise themselves from the height to which 
they had first sprung.” 

Griffith says : “ Their flight, as it is called, carries them fifteen 
to eighteen feet out of the water ; but they do not properly fly, 
they only leap into the air, after a rapid course of swimming. It 
appears that this fish, which swims in large shoals, is perpetually 
harassed by the dorados and other voracious inhabitants of the 
water ; in its endeavors to avoid these, it starts into the air, 
when it is attacked by the gulls and albatrosses, and thus driven 
back into the sea. Tn the fright which an onset makes upon 
them, sometimes a whole shoal will come flying out of the water, 
and dozens of them will fall upon the deck of a vessel that chances 
to be in their way.” 

. 

. 

* ,* 1 

j 

1 











THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 



„ IIE flight of Joseph and Mary, with the infant Christ 
^ into Egypt, in order to escape the jealous rage of Herod, 


the Roman Governor of Judea, is thus related in the 
second chapter of Matthew : 

“ Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, in the days 
of Herod the King, behold, there came wise men from the east to 
Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? 
for we have seen his star in the east, and have come hither to 
worship him. When IIerod the King had heard these things, he 
Avas troubled, and all Jerusalem with him. And when he had 

gathered all the chief priests and scribes of the people together, 
[374] 

































THE PLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 375 

lie demanded’of them where Christ should he born. And they 
said unto him, In Bethlehem of Judea : for thus it is written by 
the prophet: And thou, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, art not 
the least among the princes of Judah : for out of thee shall come 
a Governor, that shall rule my people Israel. Then Herod, when 
he had privily called the wise men, inquired of them diligently 
what time the star appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, 
and said, Go, and search diligently for the young child; and 
when ye have found him, bring me word again, that I may come 
and worship him also. AY hen they had heard the king, they 
departed ; and lo, the star which they saw in the east, went 
before them, till it came and stood over where the vouim child 

•/ O 

was. AVhen they saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding- 
great joy. 

“ And when they were come into the house, they saw the young 
child with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshiped him: 
and when they had opened their treasures, they presented unto 
him gifts; gold, and frankincense, and myrrh. And being warned 
of God in a dream that they should not return to IIerod, they 
departed into their own country another way. And when they 
were departed, behold, the Angel of the Lord appeareth to Joseph 
in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, 
and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word ; for 
IIerod will seek the young child to destroy him. YVhen he arose, 
he took the young child and his mother by night, and departed into 
Egypt: and was there until the death of Herod ; that it might 
be fulfilled which was spoken of the Lord by the prophet, saying, 
Out of Egypt have I called my son. 

“Then Herod, when he saw that he was mocked of the wise 
men, was exceeding wroth, and sent forth, and slew all the chil¬ 
dren that were in Bethlehem, and in all the coasts thereof, from 
two years old and under, according to the time which he had dil¬ 
igently inquired of the wise men. Then was fulfilled that which 
was spoken by Jeremy the prophet, saying, In Ramah was 
there a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping, and great mourn- 


















37G THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT. 

ing, Rachel weeping for her children, and would not he com¬ 
forted, because they are not. 

‘•Rut when IIerod was dead, behold, an Angel of the Lord 
appeareth in a dream to Joseph in Egypt, saying, Arise, and 
take the young child and his mother, and go into the land of 
Israel ; for they arc dead which sought the young child’s life. 

And lie arose, and took the young child and his mother, and 
came into the land of Israel. But when he hoard that Arcii- 
elaus did reign in Judea in the room of his father Herod, he 
was afraid to go thither: notwithstanding, being warned of God 
in a dream, he turned aside into the parts of Galilee : and he 
came and dwelt in a city called Nazareth ; that it might be 
fulfilled which was spoken by the prophets, He shall be called 
a Nazarcne.” 

This remarkable passage in the life of our Savior, is thus very, 
briefly told in the sacred volume : but in order to satisfy the eager 
curiosity of mankind as to the particular events which attended 
the exiles in their distant journey and long absence, a great num¬ 
ber of fictitious accounts were written in the early ages of Chris¬ 
tianity, and palmed off upon the world as veritable histories. 
These are full of miracles and marvels, and being adapted to the 
superstitious taste of that day, were read with avidity throughout 
the Christian world. The incidents of these fabulous narratives 
were seized upon by the artists of the middle ages, as well as at a 
later period, and made the themes of their sculptures and their 
paintings. Spain, Italy and Germany — especially in the old 
Catholic churches—are still full of these representations, exe¬ 
cuted four or five hundred years ago, as well by the great masters 
as those of inferior name and fame. Impressed by these pictures, 
which speak to the soul through the master sense of sight, the 
popular mind was deeply affected by these scenes : and as the 
legends on which they were founded were sanctioned by the 
Church, the fictitious life of Christ and the Holy Mother, at last 
superseded the truth ; and so it is to this day with more than half 
the professors of Christianity in the world. 



_ 














THE SPOTTED MARTIN. 

A^ )IIE Spotted Martin is a foot and a half in length, and 
Tt jr his tail is almost as long as his body; his fur is of a 
beautiful chestnut color, spotted with white, his tail being 
marked in the same manner. 

This animal belongs to New Holland, and is found near the 
settlement of Port Jackson. It resembles somewhat the genets 
and ferrets, and lias some of the habits of the common martins. 
The structure of its feet prevents its climbing trees ; but during the 
night it leaves the holes in the rocks where it has hidden or slept 
during the day, and sets out in search of the birds, small quadru¬ 
peds, and insects, which serve it for food. . 

As the small animals lie seeks for prey are not very numerous 
in Australia, he is limited to kangaroos, porcupines, ant-eaters, and 
the duck-billed platypus ; and even with a chance at these he fre¬ 
quently makes but a poor supper. In such a case, lie descends 

[3771 








































378 


THE SPOTTED MARTIN. 


upon the sea-coast, and half famished as he is, attacks with voracity 
the putrid bodies of fish and seals that the waves of the sea have 
thrown upon the sands, or perchance snatches a wild bird that is 
brooding along the shore. Sometimes lie glides, unpcrceived, 
amid the hen-roosts of the colonists, and makes a dainty meal of 
their chickens and eggs, just like a ferret or weasel. All the 
martins arc very voracious, and this one we are describing does 
full justice to the traditions of the family in this respect. 
































T evening it rose in the hollow glade 
■JAY Where wild flowers blushed ’mid silence and shade ; 
^ Where, hid from the gaze of the garish noon. 

They were slyly wooed by the trembling moon. 

It rose — for the guardian zephyrs had flown, 

And left the valley that night alone. 


* The beautiful variety of brilliant colors displayed by our North American forests, 
on the approach of autumn, has attracted universal attention and excited universal 
admiration. The cause of the sudden change in the leaves from green to yellow, red. 
crimson, brown and purple, has been popularly ascribed to the frost, and though this 
is doubtless erroneous, it serves well enough the purposes of poetry, which seeks only 
to affect the imagination, and not to build up a system of science 


[ 379 ] 





















380 THE FIRST FROST OF AUTUMN. 

No sigh was borne from the leafy hill, 

No murmur came from the lapsing rill ; 

The boughs of the willow in silence wept, 

And the aspen leaves in that Sabbath slept. 

The valley dreamed, and the fairy lute 

Of the whispering reed by the brook was mute. 

The slender rush o’er the glassy rill, 

As a marble shaft was erect and still, 

And no airy sylph on the mirror wave 
A dimpling trace of its footstep gave. 

The moon shone down, but the shadows deep 
Of the pensile flowers were hushed in sleep. 

The pulse was still in that vale of bloom, 

And the Spirit rose from its marshy tomb : 

It rose o’er the breast of a silver spring, 

Where the mist at morn shook its snowy wing, 

And robed like the dew, when it wooes the flowers, 
It stole away to their secret bowers. 

With a lover’s sigh, and a zephyr’s breath, 

It whispered bliss, but its work was death. 

It kissed the lip of a rose asleep, 

And left it there on its stem to weep : 

It froze the drop on a lily’s leaf, 

And the shivering blossom was bowed .in grief. 

O’er the gentian it breathed, and the withered flower 
Fell blackened and scathed in its lonely bower: 

It stooped to the aster, all blooming around, 

And kissed the buds as they slept on the ground. 
They slept, but no morrow could waken their bloom, 
And shrouded by moonlight, they lay in their tomb. 

The Frost-spirit went like the lover light, 

In search of fresh beauty and bloom that night. 

Its wing was plumed by the moon’s cold ray, 

And noiseless it flew o’er the hills away. 























THE FIRST FROST OF AUTUMN. 381 

It flew, yet its dallying fingers played, 

With a thrilling touch through the maple’s shade ; 

It toyed with the leaves of the sturdy oak ; 

It sighed o’er the aspen, and whispering spoke 
To the bending sumach, that stooped to throw 
Its chequering shade o’er the brook below. 

It kissed the leaves of the.beech, and breathed 
O’er the arching elm, with its ivy wreathed ; 

It climbed to the ash on the mountain’s height : 

It flew to the meadow, and hovering light 
O’er leafy forest and fragrant dell, 

It bound them all in its silvery spell. 

Each spreading bough heard the whispered bliss, 

And gave its cheek to the gallant’s kiss — 

Though, giving, the leaves disdainfully shook, 

As if refusing the boon they took. 

Who dreamed that the morning’s light would speak, 

And show that kiss on the blushing cheek ? — 

For in silence the fairy work went through, 

And no crowing owl of the scandal knew ; 

No watch-dog broke from his slumbers light, 

To tell the tale to the listening night. 

But that which in secret is darkly done, 

Is oft displayed by the morrow’s sun ; 

And thus the leaves in the light revealed, 

With their glowing hues, what the night concealed. 

The sweet, frail flowers, that once welcomed the morn, 
Now drooped in their bowers, all shriveled and lorn : 
While the hardier trees shook their leaves in the blast. 
Though tell-tale colors were over them cast. 

The maple blushed de'ep as a maiden’s cheek, 

And the oak confessed what it would not speak. 

The beech stood mute, but a purple hue 
O’er its glossy robe was a witness true. 





















THE PECCARY. 

IJE Peccaries belong to tlie hog family, and are found in 
South America and Mexico. They are of two kinds, the 
collared and the white-lipped. The former lias been do¬ 
mesticated, but is in flesh and fertility, much inferior to our swine. 

Of the white-lipped species, we have some curious accounts. 
They are wild, and congregate in numerous bands, sometimes 
amounting, it is said, to more than a thousand individuals of all 
ages. Thus united, they frequently traverse extensive districts, 
the whole troop occupying an extent of a league in length, and 
directed in their march, if the accounts of the natives are to be 
credited, by a leader, who takes his station at the head of the 
foremost rank. Should they be impeded in their progress by a 
river, the chief stops for a moment, and then plunges boldly into 
the stream, followed by all the rest of tire troop. The breadth of 
the river, or the rapidity of the current, appear to be but trifling 
obstacles in their way, and are overcome with the greatest 
facility. 

[383] 



















384 


THE PECCARY. 


On reaching the opposite bank, they proceed directly on their 
course, and continue their march even through the plantations, 
which, unfortunately for their owners, may happen to lie in their 
way, and which they sometimes completely devastate by rooting 
in the ground for their favorite food, or devouring such fruit as 
they find there. If they meet with anything unusual in their way, 
they make a terrific clattering with their teeth, and stop and 
examine the object of their alarm. When they have ascertained 
that there is no danger, they continue their route without further 
delay ; but if a huntsman should venture to attack them when 
they are thus assembled in large numbers, he is sure to be sur¬ 
rounded by multitudes, and torn to pieces by their tusks, if he is 
so unwise as to neglect his only chance of escape, which consists 
in climbing a tree, and thus getting fairly out of their reach. 
The smaller bands arc by no means equally courageous, and 
always take to flight at the first attack. 

In Guyana, Soxnini, as ho tells us in his narrative, was sur¬ 
rounded by a band of peccaries, exasperated at the havoc made 
among them by the muskets of himself and his companions. 
Betaking himself to a tree, he beheld at his case how they encour¬ 
aged, by their grunts and by rubbing their snouts together, those 
which were wounded from the shots, still maintaining their 
ground, with bristles erect and eyes fiery with rage. They some¬ 
times stood an incessant fusillade of two or three hours before 
they quitted the battle-field and left their dead to the conquerors. 

After such encounters as these, which sometimes take place, 
comes the festival of the successful and victorious hunters. A 
great gridiron, so to speak, of sticks fixed in the ground, and some 
three feet in height, with numerous small branches laid on them 
in a transverse direction, is got ready. On this sylvan cooking- 
apparatus, the slices of peccary pork are broiled over a slow fire, 
kept up during the night. Sonnini. in the account of his travels, 
dwells enthusiastically on these forest feasts, to which he looks 
back with regret. 

c 


































386 


MOUNT HOR. 


“ And Moses sent messengers from Kadesh unto the king of 
Edom, Thus saitli thy brother Israel, Thou knowest all the travail 
that hath befallen us : how our fathers went down into Egypt, 
and we have dwelt in Egypt a long time; and the Egyptians 
vexed us and our fathers : and when we cried unto the Lord, lie 
heard our voice, and sent an angel, and hath brought us forth out 
of Egypt: and behold, wo are in Kadesh, a city in the uttermost 
of thy border. Let us pass, I pray thee, through thy country : we 
will not pass through the fields, or through the vineyards, n'either 
will we drink of the water of the wells : we will go by the king’s 
high way, we will not turn to the right hand nor to the left, until 
we have passed thy borders. And Edom said unto him, Thou 
shalt not pass by me, lest I come out against thee with the sword. 
And the children of Israel said unto him, We will go by the high 
way : and if I and my cattle drink of thy water, then I will pay 
for it: I will only, without doing any thing else, go through on 
my feet. And he said, Thou shalt not go through. And Edom 
came out against him with much people, and with a strong hand. 

“ Tlius Edom refused to give Israel passage through his bor¬ 
der : wherefore Israel turned awav from him. And the children 
of Israel, even the whole congregation, journeyed from Kadesh, 
and came unto Mount Hor. And the Lord spake unto Moses 
and Aaron in Mount Hor, by the coast of the land of Edom, say¬ 
ing, Aaron shall be gathered unto his people: for lie shall not 
enter into the land which I have given unto the children of Israel, 
because ye rebelled against my word at the water of Meribah. 
Take Aaron and Eleazar his son, and bring them up unto 
Mount Hor : and strip Aaron of his garments, and put them 
upon Eleazar his son : and Aaron shall be gathered unto his 
people, and shall die there. And Moses did as the Lord com¬ 
manded : and they went up into Mount Hor in the sight of all the 
congregation. And Moses stripped Aaron of his garments, and 
put them upon Eleazar his son ; and Aaron died there in the 
the mount: and Moses and Eleazar came down from the top of 
the mount. And when all the congregation saw that Aaron was 








MOUNT HOR. 387 

dead, they mourned for Aaron thirty days, even all the house 
of Israel.” 

It is not surprising that an event so striking should have 
marked this mountain as one of peculiar interest, in all future 
time. The very spot where the great patriarch is supposed 
to have been buried, is pointed out, and still bears the name 
of Aaron’s Tomb. Over this, there is a building, erected many 
centuries ago, consisting of a cupola resembling a Mahometan 
saint’s sepulchre. The iron railing, which formerly protected the 
vault from the unhallowed touch, is now broken down, and all 
may approach it. The visitors, however, arc obliged to descend 
into the sepulchre with naked feet, although the place is sup¬ 
posed to abound in vipers and scorpions. The ascent of the 
mountain is steep and difficult; and though flights of steps and 
stairs, in some places, relieve the ascent, still, as the tomb stands 
on the brow of the mountain, the visitor is often obliged to climb 
on his hands and knees. The place is held in veneration by 
both Mahometans and Christians, and lienee many pilgrims 
visit it. 

. 














TIIE ZEBU. 

HE ox family consists of a variety of species, including 
not only the diversified domestic breeds, of various coun. 
tries, but the wild bull of Poland, several kinds of wild 
buffalo in Africa and Asia, the yak, or grunting ox of India, 
the musk ox, of the polar regions of North America, and the 
bison of our western prairies. Formerly, these were all re¬ 
garded as varieties only of the same species, but this opinion 
is now abandoned. 

Among these several races, the Zebu or Indian Ox, is an object 
of peculiar interest. It varies in size and formation, more even 
than other domestic cattle ; but in general, it is almost as large 
as our common kinds, has short retreating horns, with a fatty 
lump on the shoulder, and a dewlap nearly sweeping the ground. 
The limbs arc light and delicate, and it appears to be a good 

traveler. It is used under the saddle, and in former times, when 
[383] 











THE ZEBU. 380 

it was bred and trained with care, it performed journeys of fifty 
or sixty miles in a day. 

Among the Hindoos, some of the zebus seem to lead a charmed 
life, it being a sin to slaughter them, though the people often work 
them. There are particular bulls which are regarded with vene¬ 
ration and honor, wander about at their ease, taking their pleas¬ 
ure and their food when and where they list. Of the “ Sacred 
Bulls ol Benares,' the holy city of the Hindoos, Bayard Taylor 
gives us the following account: 

“ The narrow streets of this city arc obstructed, in the vicinity 
of tiro temple, with numbers of the sacred bulls. The place 
swarms with these animals, which are as great a nuisance to it as 
the mendicant friars are to Rome. They arc knowing bulls, per¬ 
fectly conscious of their sacred character, and presume upon it to 
commit all sorts of depredations. They are the terror of the deal¬ 
ers in fruits and vegetables, for, although not always exempted 
from blows, no one can stand before their horns, and these they 
do not scruple to use, if necessary to secure their end. 

“ Sometimes, on their foraging expeditions, they boldly enter 
the houses, march up stairs, and take a stroll on the ilat roofs, 
where they may bo seen looking down with a quiet interest on the 
passing crowds below. From these eminences they take a survey 
of the surrounding country, calculate its resources, and having 
selected one of the richest spots within their circle of vision, de¬ 
scend straightway, and set off in a bee-line for the place, which 
they never fail to find. 

“ When the fields look promising on the other side of the 
Ganges, they march down to the river banks, and prevent any 
passengers from going on board the ferry-boats until they arc 
permitted to enter. They cross, and remain there until the sup¬ 
plies are exhausted, when they force a passage back in the same 
manner. The gardens of the English residents frequently sulfer 
from their depredations, and the only effectual way of guarding 
against them is to yoke them at once, and keep them at hard labor 








390 the zebu. 

for a day or two, which so utterly disgusts them with the place, 
that they never return to it. It is also affirmed that they care¬ 
fully avoid the neighborhood of those butchers who supply the 
tables of the English, having observed that some of their brethren 
disappeared in a miraculous manner, after frequenting such 
localities.” 












GOOD NIGHT. 



IIE sun has sunk behind the hills, 

The shadows o'er the landscape creep: 

A drowsy sound the woodland fills, 

And nature folds her arms to sleep : 

Good night—good night. 



The chattering jay has ceased his din — 
The noisy robin sings no more — 

The crow his mountain haunt within. 
Dreams ’mid the forest’s surly roar : 

Good night — good night. 

1 he sunlit cloud floats dim and pale; 

The dew is falling soft and still; 

The mist hangs trembling o’er the vale, 

And silence broods o’er yonder mill : 

•/ 

Good night—good night. 

The rose, so ruddy in the light, 

Bends on its Stem all ray less now, 

And by its side the lily white 
A sister shadow, seems to bow : 

Good night—good night. 

The bat mav wheel on silent wing— 

The fox his guilty vigils keep— 

The boding owl his dirges sing ; 

But love and innocence will sleep ; 

Good night—good night! 
[391] 














MOUNT SINAI. 

HE Mount Sinai of the Scriptures, is generally supposed to 
to be identical with the mountain called by the Arabs 
Djibbel Mourn, or Mountain of Moses, or simply El Tor — 
the Mountain—in the peninsula between the two Gulfs of Suez and 
Akaba, in about latitude 28° 25' north, longitude 34° 10' east, 
and two hundred and sixty miles south-east of Cairo. The group 
of mountains to which Sinai belongs, and which also includes 
Mount Horeb, Mount St. Catherine, and other remarkable sum¬ 
mits, is surrounded on all sides by deserts, occupied only by tribes 
of Bedouins, or wandering Arabs. These mountains arc pene¬ 
trated by deep chasms, edged by bare perpendicular ledges of 
rocks, and the whole has a singularly wild and sterile appearance. 

The convent of St. Catherine, founded by the emperor Justin- 

[392] 




















MOUNT SINAI. 


393 


ian, is built on the site where a small church had been erected by 
the Empress Helena, and where, according to tradition, God ap¬ 
peared to Moses in the burning bush, saying “ Put off thy shoes 
from off thy feet, for the place where thou standest is holy ground.” 
It occupies a valley on the slope of the mountain, and is the halting 
place whence pilgrims set out to ascend to the summit. Being ex¬ 
posed to the attacks of the Arabs, it looks more like a fortress than 
a convent. It is an irregular, quadrangular edifice, surrounded by 
high and solid walls, and covers a considerable extent of ground. 
To prevent being surprised by their troublesome neighbors, the' 
occupants have caused the entrance gate to be built up, and it is 
very rarely opened. On ordinary occasions, all access to the con¬ 
vent is by an entrance about thirty feet from the ground, to which 
travelers, provisions, Ac., are raised in a basket made fast to 
a rope, pulled up by a windlass. 

The interior of the convent presents little that is remarkable, all 
the apartments and chapels being constructed of rough stone, 
without symmetry or order, and communicating with each other by 
crooked and dark passages, the whole bearing the appearance of a 
small town. The well, furnishing an inexhaustible supply of pure 
water, is shown by the brethren of the convent, as that of Jethro, 
the father-in-law of Moses, to which the great lawgiver led his 
flocks, while he was yet living in obscurity, in the land of Midian. 

The Church of the Transfiguration alone possesses any preten¬ 
sions to magnificence. It is eighty feet in length, and fifty-three in 
breadth, paved with marble, and adorned with a variety of figures. 
The event to which it relates, is represented in mosaic. But the 
grand treasure of this church, and that which is supposed by zeal¬ 
ous Catholics to confer on it peculiar sanctity and importance, is 
the possession of the relics of St. Catherine, which—according to 
tradition — were carried by angels to the neighboring mountain, 
which still bears her name, these being subsequently collected and 
deposited in-a marble sarcophagus in this building! The skeleton 
of a hand, covered with rings and jewels, is the only portion of the 
remains of the person of the saint, that is exhibited to her faithful 












394 


MOUNT SINAI. 


votaries. Mount Sinai is almost as prominent in the sacred his¬ 
tory of the Mohammedans as of the Jews ; and it is a curious fact, 
that there is a Mohammedan mosque within the precincts of the 
convent we have described. Attached to the latter is an excellent 
garden, which, being at a little distance, is reached bv a subterran¬ 
eous passage secured by iron gates. It produces fruits, plants, and 
vegetables, in the greatest profusion. The climate is temperate, 
in consequence of the elevation, and snow even falls in winter. 

The ascent to the mountains, which lies through a ravine to the 
south-west, commences close to the convent. It is steep, but the 
labor of ascending has been greatly facilitated by rude steps, cut 
in the rock. At the height of about five hundred feet from the 
convent, is a spring of fresh and cold water, covered by a rock, 
which protects it from the sun and rain. After ascending a little 
higher, the traveler gains the summit of Mount Horeb, which 
forms a kind of breast, from which Sinai rises. “ Continuing our 
route from this halting place,” says Laborde, “ by a path still 
more rugged and steep than before, we arrived in about forty-five 
minutes at the summit of Sinai, the apex of a peak not more than 
fifty yards across at its widest part.” The height of Mount Sinai 
has been variously estimated ; but it is probably about 9, 000 feet 
above the level of the sea, and above 2,500 feet above the con¬ 
vent of St. Catherine. 

On the summit of the mountain is a dilapidated church, which 
tradition represents as founded on the spot where, amid thunder 
and lightning, and the smoke of the agitated rocks, Moses 
received the Decalogue from the hands of The Almighty : (Exo¬ 
dus, chapter xx). Truth, however, is seldom unaccompanied by 
error, and but a few yards distant from the church are the ruins 
of a mosque; this mountain, by a singular coincidence, being 
hallowed alike in the estimation of Jews, Christians, and Mo¬ 
hammedans. 

“ It seems,” says Sir Frederick Henniker, “ to a person on the 
summit of Sinai, as if the whole of Arabia PctrEea had once been 
an ocean of lava, and that while its waves were literally running 









MOUNT SINAI. 


395 


mountains high, it had suddenly been commanded to stand still.” 
Mount Sinai itself, Mount St. Catherine, which is still higher, and 
the adjacent mountains, rise in sharp, conical, granite peaks, and 
from their steep and shattered sides, huge masses have been 
thrown down. The prospect from the summit of Sinai is most 
extensive ; the Gulf of Akaba on one hand, and that of Suez on 
the other, with Mount Agrib on the Egyptian coast, are distinctly 
visible. Barrenness and desolation are, however, its grand char¬ 
acteristics. “ No villages and castles, as in Europe, animate the 
picture ; no forests, lakes, or falls of water, break the silence and 
monotony of the scene. All has the appearance of a vast and 
desolate wilderness, either gray, darkly brown, or wholly black.” 
But it is the associations connected with the mountain, and the 
recollection of the astonishing events, of which it is believed to have 
been the theater, that inspire those feelings of awe and venera¬ 
tion felt by all who have either beheld or ascended Mount Sinai. 

Considerable doubts have, however, been entertained, whether 
the mountain now described, be really the Mount Sinai of the 
Pentateuch. It might be expected that the summit of the moun¬ 
tain should exhibit some traces of the stupendous phenomena that 
arc said to have accompanied the manifestations of the Divine 
presence. But, according to Burckhardt, neither Sinai, nor any of 
the adjoining summits, present any traces of volcanic action. It 
is supposed by some that the Djihbel Katerin, or Mount St. Cath¬ 
erine, has the best title to be regarded as the true Sinai. 

There are really, however, no means by which to arrive at any 
satisfactory conclusions on the subject. All that can with confi¬ 
dence be stated—for monkish legends and traditions go for 
nothing—is, that Mount Sinai must be somewhere in this vicin¬ 
ity ; and, that although the hypothesis that the Djihbel Mousa and 
the Sinai of the Bible are identical, be not free from difficulties, it 
is as much so, perhaps, as any other that has been advanced in its 
stead. 

The “ Rock of Moses,” of which a sketch is given at the head 
of this article, lies in a valley of Mount Horeb, and parallel to 











396 MOUNT SINAI. 

that in which the convent of Saint Catherine is situated. It is 
fifteen feet long, ten wide, and twelve high. This huge mass of 
stone is believed by the pilgrims, and also by the Arabs, to be the 
actual rock smitten by Moses, Exodus xvii, 5, 6: 

“ And the Lord said unto Moses, Go on before the people, and 
take with thee of the elders of Israel ; and thy rod, wherewith thou 
smotest the river, take in thine hand and go. Behold, I will stand 
before thee on the rock in Horeb ; and thou slialt smite the rock, 
and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink. 
And Moses did so in the sight of the elders of Israel. And he 
called the name of the place Massah, and Meribah, because of the 
eludings of the children of Israel, and because they tempted the 
Lord, saying, Is the Lord among us, or not?*’ 

The reverence for this traditional relic, is said to be scarcely 
less among the rude Bedouins than among the Christians. 











SUBJUGATION AND DOMESTICATION 

OF ANIMALS. 

MPULSE is the exciting power in animals, and this they 
seek to gratify in defiance of every obstacle ; but they, ncver- 
theless, often yield to circumstances directly at variance 
with this impulse, particularly if they are sagacious enough to 

perceive that these tend to avert some 
immediate evil, or to procure some 
more remote benefit. 

An elephant that had received a 
flesh wound from a ball in one of the 
wars of India, after being conducted 
two or three times to the hospital, 
where he extended himself to be treat¬ 
ed, used afterwards to go alone. The 
surgeon did whatever he thought ne¬ 
cessary, applying even sometimes fire 
to the wound ; and though the pain 
made the animal utter the most plaint¬ 
ive groans, lie never expressed any 
other token than that of gratitude to 
this person, who, by momentary tor¬ 
ments endeavored, and in the end effected, his cure. 

A remarkable instance of the training of elephants, was 
exhibited in New York, at the Broadway Theater, in the winter 
of 1850-7. These animals took part in a dramatic piece called 
the “ Usurper of Siam,” during which they performed the most 
extraordinary feats, such as standing upon a tub, upon their fore 

[3971 





















398 


THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 



legs, their heels in the air ; and then 
reversing this process, by standing 
upon their hind legs, having the 
attitude of a fat, decrepid old man. 
One of them would lie down between 
two tubs, and the other would stand 
over him upon them. In another 
case, in order to extricate the hero 
of the story from imprisonment, one 
of the elephants lay down, the other 
put his fore feet upon him, and, thus 
mounted, stretched out his trunk to 
the window of the prisoner. By this 
means the latter was able to descend 
along the head, neck, and back of 
the elephant, to the ground. These 
astonishing results were obtained by 
a long scries of training, in which 
these animals were subjected to al¬ 
ternate coaxing and threats, rewards 
and punishments. 

Thus animals are made to subject 
their passions and powers not only 
to the disposition but to the will of 
man, and thereby contribute to his 
pleasure and profit. But it is to be 
observed that there would be no 
possibility of subjugating them, were 
there not a strong principle of sub¬ 
mission implanted in them. To 
take advantage of this, man must be 
acquainted with their several prop¬ 
erties and characters, and must 
himself have attained to a certain 
degree of civilization. The savage 




























- THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 399 

races which support themselves on fruits and roots, as well as 
those which subsist on fish, have consequently no domestic animals; 
while the hunter has his dog for his companion, and the shepherd 
and the husbandman are surrounded by their (locks and herds. 

In earlier years, it was generally believed that herbivorous 
animals possessed a more gentle and docile character than the 
carnivores. The gazelle was the picture of gentleness and beauty, 
and the hind and.other animals, with their swift and graceful 
gait, and large beaming eyes, were the emblems of timidity and 
softness ; while deadly cruelty and violence were ascribed to the 
tiger, the wolf, and the hyena. But, by the acute and persevering 
observations of Cuvier, the character of these animals has been 
placed in a clearer light, and the long adopted opinion has not 
only been discarded, but reversed. The full-grown males of the 
ruminants are wild and ungovernable, and are not to be moved to 
gentleness and gratitude by the kindest treatment; for even if 
they recognise their attendant, they show no attachment to him, 
and if he be not always on his guard with them, and they are not 
restrained by fear, they are ever ready to inflict some injury 
on him. 

“ Repeatedly,” says Cuvier, “ an herbivorous animal, notwith¬ 
standing its apparent gentleness, breaks out into a fit of frightful 
rage ; while the carnivorous beast, true to its character, never 
deceives by any outward semblance. When he contemplates- 
mischief, he proclaims it by his manner and actions ; and when he 
is disposed to gentleness, he proves it in the same manner.” 

The carnivorous animals attach themselves to their keepers, and 
are thankful for their kind offices ; and even the hyena, the blood¬ 
thirsty monster, as he has been described by all naturalists since 
the days of Buffon, crouches, when gently treated, like a dog at 
the feet of its master, allows itself to be caressed and fed by him, 
and shows the greatest attachment and obedience. 

The cause is obvious, and consists in the fact that -ruminants 
generally have very limited powers of intelligence ; while the 
carnivores possess them in a high and refined degree, and display 














400 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

them in a favorable rather than in a noxious light. Animals, 
therefore, which stand at zero in the scale of intelligence, are not 
to be tamed ; and it is only where the glimmerings of intelligence 
are visible, that we begin to lind the task of taming possible. 

The first authenticated instances among these lower animals, 
arc to be found in the family of the spiders. Pelisson tamed a 
spider in his prison : and the daughter of the Count of Bearn 
kept one imprisoned in a little bottle, and fee} it with flics, till at 
last it took them from between her fingers. Ascending to a 
higher grade, we find that fish can be tamed. A multitude of 
•sea-fish are kept in the ponds at Port Nessok, which have become 
so tame that they come open-mouthed in crowds to the banks 
when any person approaches. Their sense of hearing is so acute, 
that they recognize the steps of their keeper; the pond seems 
alive, and the whole population, swarming into activity, crowds 
simultaneously to one spot, scuffling over one another, each one 
trying to reach the surface, and pressing on as if they would 
devour the keeper, in their impatience to receive their accustomed 
food at his hands. Some fish are so tame that they feed boldly 
from the hand ; and we are told of one great codfish, the patriarch 
of the pond, which would heave itself out of the water, and, 
laying its head on a stone, permit itself to be patted, while it 
snapped at its food. 

Reptiles are capable of being tamed also. A green tree frog 
has been so tamed as to allow itself to be carried about the room 
on the finger to catch flics, and to return to its post after having 
made its spring. In the Rio San Domingo, on the western coast 
of Africa, M. Brue was astonished to find the crocodiles, usually 
considered such ferocious animals, perfectly harmless, insomuch 
that the children played with them, mounted on their backs, and 
even beat them, without danger, or any appearance of resentment. 

This gentleness of disposition, lie says, proceeded from their 
having been always kept well fed, and from the attention paid to 
them by the natives; for in all other parts of Africa they attack 
indiscriminately men and animals. 

















THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 401 

* 

The alligator, when caught young, may, in some measure, be 
domesticated. Dr. Brickell saw one in a large pond before a 
planter’s house. It remained nearly half a year, during which 
time it was regularly fed with the entrails of fowls and raw meat. 

It frequently came into the house, where it would remain for a 
short time, and then return again to its shelter in the pond. It 
was supposed at last to have stolen away to a creek near the 
plantation, for it was one day missing, and from that time was 
never seen. Mr. White, in his “ Natural History of Selbourne,” 
in speaking of an old tortoise, called Timothy, says that it distin¬ 
guished those persons from whom it was accustomed to receive at¬ 
tention ; and whenever its mistress, who had waited on it for more 
than thirty years, came in sight, it hobbled, with awkward alacrity, 
towards her, whilst to strangers it was altogether inattentive. 

Mr. St. John once saw a tamed rattle-snake, as gentle as it 
is possible to conceive a reptile to be. It went to the water 
and swam whenever it pleased; and when the boys to whom it 
belonged called it back, their summons was readily obeyed. It 
had been deprived of its fangs. They often stroked it with a soft 
brush, and this friction seemed to cause the most pleasing sensa¬ 
tions, for it would turn on its back to enjoy it, as a cat does 
before the fire. 

The common snake is easily tamed, and may be made to dis¬ 
tinguish those who caress and feed it. Mr. Bell had one which 
knew him from all other persons; and when let out of his box 
would immediately come to him, and crawl under the sleeve of his 
coat, where he was fond of lying perfectly still, enjoying the 
warmth. It was accustomed to come to his hand for a draught 
of milk every morning at breakfast, which it always did of its 
own accord ; but it would fly from strangers, and hiss if they 
meddled with it. Another person, it is stated, kept one in the same 
manner for a considerable time, and allowed it to nestle in his 
breast. A man of the name of Wilkinson, in New South Wales, 
used to carry snakes about with him in his naked breast, and in 
his hat, and suffer them to nestle in his bed. 

26 











402 


THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 


That degree of moral ductility and capacity of education which 
taming exhibits, seems to be a general quality of the animal kind, 
as the fiercest have been subject to it. Even the tiger, which may 
be considered as the fiercest of the fierce, has exhibited this 
improvability. So has the savage and voracious hyena, and the 
leopard likewise. The wolf has also shown that it possesses what 
may be termed affectionate qualities. The baboons become vigil¬ 
ant guardians of their protector’s property. 

Thompson, to whom we are indebted for most of the observa¬ 
tions on the qualities of animals in this volume, says, “ These facts 
prove that there is nothing in the nature of the wildest animals 
to make their future gentleness and sociability either impossible 
or improbable. We see by the dog and cat that the carnivores 
may be mild and friendly; as we find those which feed on grass 
may be wild. Even the devourers and their prey may, by kind 
and judicious management, be trained to live peaceably and harm¬ 
lessly together. Nothing appears more effectual to produce this 
pleasing melioration than patient and persevering, kind and gentle 
treatment. They are now wild and savage, from the appointed 
circumstances amid which they are at present ordained to live; 
and when this state of the universe shall be altered, their moral 
transformation will become a natural appendage to the great 
social and intellectual revolution which the Hebrew prophets 
attach to the ulterior ages.” 

The jackal, when taken young, acquires , the same affectionate 
disposition as the dog. The lion has been repeatedly tamed, and 
so has the fox. Kubens had a tame lion four weeks in his room 
to paint from. The late Mr. Kean kept a tame puma at large in 
his house. Pennant saw an hyena as tame as a dog. The ounce 
is tamed to hunt, and becomes as tractable as a pointer. The 
large tiger-cat is easilv tamed. The mountain lynx has mild and 
gentle manners. The Egyptian ichneumon may be softened so as 
to be kept in a house like a cat. The otter may be taught to 
catch fish for its master. The ferret is domesticated, and employed 
to catch rabbits. The weasel may be trained to follow a person 














THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 403 

anywhere. We see the bear repeatedly in our streets. The 
badger may be also made docile if caught young. The raccoon is 
easily tamed, and sportive, but unlucky and inquisitive, like a 
monkey* The rhinoceros and hippopotamus may be tamed in 
some degree. 

The tiger, if taken young, may be domesticated ; one, six weeks 
old, was taken on board the Pitt, East Indiaman, many years 
ago, and arrived in England before it had quite completed its 
first year. It was as playful as a kitten, and frequently slept with 
the sailors in their hammocks ; it would run out on the bowsprit, 
climb about the ship like a cat, and play with a dog there. 
Deposited in the Tower of London, it continued thus to be per¬ 
fectly good-natured, and was never guilty of any savage tricks. 

It permitted a puppy terrier and a mastiff to be successively its 
inmates, and recogni ed with delight the ship’s carpenter, who 
came to see him two years after they had been separated—licking 
his hands, and fawning on him like a cat. 

The Faquirs of Ilindostan frequently go about with tame tigers. 
Bishop IIeber mentions that Mr. Trail, in India, had a hyena 
for several years which followed him like a dog, and fawned on 
his acquaintance. Mrs. Bowditcii, widow of the Ashantee trav¬ 
eler, had a tame leopard, of which a long and most interesting 
account is to be found in Loudon’s “Magazine of Natural His¬ 
tory.” Gesner mentions that Francis I kept one, which he 
used for hunting. It was carried before him by an attendant on 
a horse. Mr. Barrow procured a young one in Africa, which 
became instantly tame, and as playful as a kitten. 

Cuvier describes a young wolf that was brought up like a 
young dog ; it became familiar with every person whom he was 
in the habit of seeing, followed his master everywhere, was 
obedient to his voice, and differed in nothing from the tamest 
dog. Its owner gave him to the Royal Menagerie at Paris, and 
was affectionately recognised by it eighteen months afterwards. 
When, after another absence of three years, he went to it, though 
it was dark, it knew him by his voice ; placed its fore-paws on 










1(1 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

his shoulders and licked Ids face, and became ill and pined because 
he went away. 

Ivolben states that the baboons at the Cape, if brought up 
while young with milk, become as watchful over their master’s 
things as a house dog. Le Taillaint declares of the one he had. 
that it was more watchful than any of his dogs, and frequently 
warned him of the approach of predatory animals, when the dogs 
seemed unconscious that they were near. Father Carli, in his 
History of Angola, mentions that he had taught monkeys to attend 
him, and to guard him, while sleeping, against thieves and rats, 
and to fetch water. 

In 1827, M. Pelletau, Director of the African Company at 
Senegal, trained a lion caught in the forest there, to be very trac¬ 
table, and to live in amity with the other animals which his master 
kept. lie slept in the same place with sheep, dogs, cats, monkeys, 
geese, and ducks. When he was eight months old, a terrier 
brought forth two puppies in his bed, which excited a great 
interest in him, and he caressed them as if lie was their parent. 

At New Hargard, in Germany, the landlord of an inn placed 
on the floor a large dish of soup, and then gave a loud whistle: 
immediately a mastiff, an Angora cat, an old raven, and a large 
rat with a bell around its neck, entered the room, and fed out 
of the dish together. John Austin, who exhibited his domestic 
menagerie in the streets of London, some years since, occupied 
himself for a long time in training creatures of opposite natures 
to live together in contentment and affection. Cats, rats, mice, 
hawks, rabbits, Guinea-pigs, owls, pigeons, starlings, and spar¬ 
rows, all live in harmony together. He effected this amity by 
keeping them all well fed. and by accustoming them to each other 
at a very early period of their lives. 

As regards the power of subduing the animal mind by human 
ingenuity, the Reverend IT. Townsend mentions a man in Ireland, 
who would make any horse, however vicious or unruly, become, in 
halt an hour, gentle and tractable, and permanently so. When 
sent for, he ordered the stable door to be shut, and not to be 









THE SUBJUGATION OP ANIMALS. 405 

opened until lie gave the signal. After being alone with the 
horse lor hall an hour, during which little or no bustle was 
heard, lie ordered the door to be unclosed. The refractory horse 
then appeared lying down, and the man by his side, playing with 
him as familiarly as a child with a puppy. He was tried again 
with a trooper’s horse, that would not stand to be shod, and com¬ 
pletely succeeded. Mr. Townsend adds, that the animal ap¬ 
peared to be terrified whenever Sullivan either spoke or looked 
at him. 

The application of the various means in use for taming animals 
must depend greatly on the character and disposition of the indi¬ 
vidual animal to be tamed ; for where kindness and gentleness 
are necessary with the timid, firmness and correction arc essential 
to the bold and surly. Cowper, in describing his three hares, 
says, that each had a character of its own : Puss was tamed by 
gentle usage ; Tiney was not to be tamed at all; and Bess had a 
courage and confidence that made him tame from the beginning. 
The science both of horse and dog-breaking rests entirely on this 
rule, for till the breaker thoroughly understands the character of 
. the animal he has in hand, his task can be attended with no good 
result, and the misapplication of his powers, through misconception 
of character, may end in rendering his charge perfectly unservice¬ 
able and worthless. 

Hunger, fear, dread, and the deprivation of sleep are, under 
certain circumstances, the most powerful auxiliaries in subduing 
and taming animals. Exhausted nature or servile submission 
produce a policy, which it is the duty of art to improve. As 
soon as confidence is established, and the feeling of dependence 
implanted, and custom and good treatment have made the society 
of man necessary to an animal, perfect dominion has been obtained, 
and the animals submit to compulsion and even to punishment 
without resistance ; their proper inclinations are in fact paralysed. 
But till brutal violence, or age and decayed powers, have subdued 
and broken the animal’s spirit, some care and forbearance are 
necessary to keep the latent passions within bounds. The unruly 








406 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

horse and goaded bull, lashed into a rage, and perhaps madness, 
by cruelty, or undue severity, give fearful proofs of their defiance 
of the authority, whose word before was law. 

Domestication is the result of the acquired or natural tameness 
of social animals ; and, according to Cuvier, none but such ani¬ 
mals as live in societies in their natural state, can be domesticated ; 
for, as he says, “ if all animals resembled the lion, the fox, or the 
hyena, which seek solitude, and even avoid their congeners, we 
should have no domestic animals. We might, perhaps, by perse¬ 
verance, create races from among them, which, like the cat, would 
accustom themselves to man and his dwellings; ” but if the cat 
accustoms itself to human intercourse, it is not properly a domestic 
animal, a member of the household ; it receives kindnesses, but is 
neither submissive, docile, nor serviceable, like true domestic ani¬ 
mals. A high range of mental powers, a ready submission to the 
will of man, a gentleness of character, fear of punishment, and 
gratitud * for benefits, are capable of taming an animal, but are 
not sufficient to domesticate it, as the disposition thereto requires 
not only a strong social impulse, but the possession of certain 
inclinations. All social animals are not capable of being domes- 

B 

ticated, as monkeys, which are both social and intelligent; but 
whose excitable and restless characters prevent them from being 
entirely subservient. 

All the animals that we have succeeded in domesticating, 
compose societies of greater or lesser magnitude, in a state of 
nature. 

When, by means of benefits, we have succeeded in gaining the 
attachment of individuals of a social race, we have then converted 
and applied the impulse which connected them to each other to 
our own advantage. The habit of living and of associating 
with us, becomes a necessary part of their existence, and an 
adaptation of the social impulse ; the pet sheep, brought up by 
the hand, follows its protector as instinctively as it would the 
flock, had it been reared in the fold. The nature of an animal is 
in no respect annulled or changed ; but man, on the contrary, 










> 

•• 

THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 407 

makes their nature subservient to his own purposes: domestica¬ 
tion is, therefore, nothing more than a simple adaptation and 
peculiar embodiment of the social impulse. 

We see in the actions of cows, goats, and sheep, when they arc 
separated from their herds and flocks, how greatly they are dis¬ 
tressed in being denied their impulse, which is a conclusive 
evidence that society is an actual want with them. The author 
saw a solitary sheep leap a high gate, to join a flock which was 
being driven into an adjoining field. As long as an individual 
can satisfy this want, it is tractable and gentle; but it becomes 
fractious and obstinate when its gratification is denied. Domes¬ 
tic animals only yield that natural obedience which, in a state 
of nature, they rendered to the leader of tlieir body ; and we 
only obtain a greater power and control, when we tempt their 
appetites, and limit those inclinations which form their natural 
bias. 

Animals which have belonged successively to several owners, 
and whose natural inclinations have become consequently blunted 
or altogether defunct, obey every one indifferently ; while those 
which have known but one master, recognize only him, and refuse 
obedience to every other individual, and even betray hostility. 

The elephant will only acknowledge the authority of the mahout 
to whom he has been accustomed ; many horses will only permit 
one particular individual to mount or even to approach them; 
dogs, which have altogether attached themselves to one master, 
are often dangerous to other persons ; and frequently, it is not 
safe to go among a herd of cattle without the protection of its 
own herdsman. 

It would be necessary to recommence the business of taming 
with each successive generation, if the bodily and mental changes 
which animals have undergone in the continued process of domes¬ 
tication, had not become so engrafted as to be propagated with 
them. These acquired characteristics have gathered fresh strength 
in each succeeding generation, till at length they have assumed a 
permanent stamp. Certain dispositions have become hereditary 










408 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS.- 

in each race, by human skill and exertions ; and as a proof of the 
perfection to which this science has been brought, it is easy, by 
skillful application, to breed races possessing peculiar powers and 
endowments. Buffon says that the main cause of the degeneracy 
in the primeval race of dogs, and of the production of new species, 
is to be found in their mental dispositions, and their submission 
to human control. 

The dog assimilates itself to those with whom it lives, and to 
the positions in which it is placed, and hence arise the distin¬ 
guishing traits between the shepherd’s dog and the hound, the 
parlor dog and the cur. The dogs of the North American Indians 
bear a strong resemblance to the wolf and the fox ; and those of 
the northern inhabitants of Siberia, which pass the whole year in 
the open air, not only resemble the wolf in form, but even in its 
howl. The sledge dogs of the Kamtschatclales, which are neither 
housed nor cared for, arc not to be deterred, by the severest 
punishment, from stealing everything which they can by possibility 
lay hold of. 

Human intercourse, and the mode of treatment, influence ma¬ 
terially the extent to which domestication may be carried, and its 
operation on the animal mind. The cattle in the Tyrol possess 
more mind, because they arc treated with humanity and affection ; 
and for the same reason, in the Swiss Alps, they are more lively 
and joyous among themselves, and more attached to their herds¬ 
men, than in those countries where little attention is paid to them. 
In some parts of Limousin, where the swine are carefully attended 
to, they arc more cleanly, docile, and attached, than is ordinarily 
the nature of their race. 

It is unquestionable that the number of our domestic animals 
might be considerably increased, by proper judgment and an 
intimate knowledge of the habits of animals, and that thus, other 
races might be made subservient to our interests. The seal 
possesses a for higher degree of intelligence than the rodents, and 
than most of the ruminants ; and as it attaches and accustoms 
itself readily to man, Cuvier expresses his surprise that the 








THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 409 

Ichthyophagi have not trained it to assist them in fishing. He 
gives it as his opinion that nearly all the pachyderms might be 
tamed, and laments that the tapir is still unreclaimed, as it is 
larger and more gentle than the swine, and would consequently 
become a most useful domestic animal. It is feared, and not 
without good reason, that, in consequence of its defenceless 
powers, and the search that is made after it as an article of food 
in America, and the extension ot the population, it will soon be 
extirpated. 

ith respect to the domestication of the seal, a remarkable 
instance of it, mixed up with a dreadful tale of Irish superstition, 
is related in the “ Wild Sports of the West.” “ About forty years 
ago, a young seal was taken in Clew Bay, and domesticated 
in the house of a gentleman which was situated on the sea¬ 
shore. It grew apace, became familiar with the servants, and 
attached to the house and family. Its habits were innocent and 
gentle ; it played with the children, came at its master’s call, 
and, as the old man described it, was fond as a dog and playful 
as a kitten. Daily the seal went out to fish, and, after providing 
for his own wants, frequently brought in a salmon or a turbot to 
his master. His delight in the summer was to bask in the sun, 
and in the winter to lie before the fire, or, if permitted, to creep 
into the large oven, which at that time formed the regular ap¬ 
pendage of an Irish kitchen. 

“For four years, the seal had been thus domesticated, when, 
unfortunately, a disease, called in that country the crippaivn —a 
kind of paralytic affection of the limbs which generally ends 
fatally — attacked some black cattle belonging to the master of 
the house; some died, others became infected, and the customary 
cure, produced by changing them to drier pasture, failed. A wise 
woman was consulted ; and the hag assured the credulous owner 
that the mortality among his cows was occasioned by his retaining 
an unclean beast about his habitation — the harmless and amusing 
seal. It must be made away with directly, or the crippawn would 
continue, and her charms be unequal to avert the malady. The 










410 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

superstitious wretch consented to the hag’s proposal: the seal was 
put on board a boat, carried out beyond Clare Island, and there 
committed to the deep, to manage for himself as he best could. 
The boat returned, the family retired to rest; the next morning 
a servant awakened her master to tell him that the seal was 
quietly sleeping in the oven. The poor animal, over-night, came 
back to Ids beloved home, crept through an open window, and 
took possession of his favorite resting-place. 

“ Next morning, another cow was reported to be unwell. The 
seal must now bo finally removed. A Galway fishing-boat was 
leaving Westport on her return home, and the master undertook 
to carry off the seal, and not put him overboard until he had 
«-one some leagues bevond Innis Boffin. It was done. A dav 
and night passed ; the second evening closed—the servant was 
raking the fire for the night — something scratched gently at the 
door —it was of course the house-dog — she opened it, and in 
came the seal! Wearied with his long and unusual voyage, lie 
testified, by a peculiar cry expressive of pleasure, his delight to 
find himself at home ; then stretching himself before the glowing 
embers of the hearth, he fell into a deep sleep. 

“ The master of the house was immediately apprized of this 
unexpected and unwelcome visit. In this exigency, the old dame 
was awakened and consulted ; she averred that it was always 
unlucky to kill a seal, but suggested that the animal should be 
deprived of sight, and a third time carried out to sea. To this 
hellish proposition, the besotted wretch who owned the house 
consented, and the affectionate and confiding creature was cruelly 
robbed of sight, on the hearth for which he had resigned his 
native element! Next morning, writhing in agony, the mutilated 
seal was embarked, taken outside Clare Island, and for the last 
time committed to the waves. 

“ A week passed over, and things became worse instead of better: 
the cattle of the truculent wretch died fast, and the infernal hag 
gave him the pleasurable tidings that her arts were useless, and 
that the destructive visitation upon his cattle exceeded her skill 








THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 411 

and cure. On the eighth night after the seal had been devoted to 
the Atlantic, it blew tremendously. In the pauses of the storm, a 
wailing noise at times was faintly heard at the door : the servants, 
who slept in the kitchen, concluded that the banshee had come to 
forewarn them of an approaching death, and buried their heads in 
the bed coverings. When morning broke, the door was opened : 
the seal was there lying dead upon the threshold! The skeleton of 
the once plump animal — for, poor beast, it perished from hunger, 
being incapacitated from blindness to procure its customary food 
— was buried in a sand-hill, and from that moment, misfortunes 
followed the abettors and perpetrators of this inhuman deed. 

“ The detestable hag, who had denounced the inoffensive seal, 
was, within a twelvemonth, hanged for the murder of her own 
grandchild. Every thing about this devoted house melted away ; 
sheep rotted, cattle died, and the corn was blighted. Of sev¬ 
eral children, none reached maturity ; and the savage pro¬ 
prietor survived every thing he loved or cared for. lie died 
blind and miserable. There is not a stone of that accursed 
building standing upon another. The property has passed to a 
family of a different name ; and the series of incessant calamities 
which pursued all concerned in this cruel deed, is as romantic as 
true.” 

During the time that rumored invasions by the French caused 
all parts of the coast of Britain to lie fortified, a small party 
on one of the little islands in the Frith of Forth, above Edin¬ 
burgh, amused themselves by taming a seal. It had all the affec¬ 
tion and playfulness of a dog. It fished for itself, and sometimes 
for its masters. It fawned about them, licked their hands, and, if 
it did not accompany those who made an excursion in the boat, it 
was sure to meet them on their return. It always came to their 
hut to sleep, and conducted itself as if it felt it was one of the 
party. Sometimes it would snatch up a stick or a brush, and 
scamper off to the water, where it swam about with the plunder in 
its mouth, often approaching the shore till within reach of its 
observers, and then it would be off to a distance. 









412 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

But though it seemed to take delight in teasing them m that 
way, it always ultimately came hack with whatever it had taken, 
and laid it at their feet, fawning and fondling all the while. 
Indeed, if they did not give chase, it seldom remained long in the 
water,''hut came hack apparently disappointed at being deprived 
of its sport. When they went to Leith for orders or stores, the 
seal generally accompanied them, swimming all the way at the 
side or stern of the boat; and when the boat was made fast to 
the pier at Leith, it took up its position inside, and kept watch 
till they returned. Fish was not its only food ; it could cat many 
things, and was very fond of bread and milk. There is no saying 
how far its training might have been carried, but it fell out of a 
bed, and was killed while still young. 

There is every reason to believe that the whole race of the 
solipedcs might be tamed as effectually as the horse and the ass, 
and that most of the species of the numerous family of the rumi¬ 
nants might be made serviceable, either as beasts of burden or 
for the value of their covering, as the llama and vicugna, whose 
fleeces arc in high estimation. 

In training an animal, wo seek, either for purposes of profit or 
of gratification, to draw out its powers, and to mould them ac¬ 
cording to our will; to teach it to move or place itself in a par¬ 
ticular manner, to utter a sound, or to perform certain actions, 
which by constant repetitions, become so familiar to it, that 
it fulfills them at a mere signal. The success of the task depends 
considerably on the temperament of the animal, as also on its 
natural habits, which in some cases are entirely opposed to 
the attempt. Kindness and fear arc the great instruments em¬ 
ployed, which, if misplaced from not understanding the character 
of the animal, have the effect of rendering it worthless. Encour¬ 
agement to the timid, and coercion to the bold, but in all cases 
an abstainment from violence and impatience, are necessary. 

Training is a process of explanation, by which one must en¬ 
deavor to awaken ideas in the animal, and to make them accord 
with those of the trainer. The animal must not only be sensible 








THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 413 

of the will of its trainer, but must bo made to feel that no injury 
is intended to it ; this is altogether indispensable, as a contrary 
course which inculcates terror makes it shy and stubborn. On 
this principle, dog-breakers never strike nor intimidate the dogs 
entrusted to them. In educating the ox for the plow, Mr. 
Cobbett recommended that “all violence and rough language 
should be avoided. It he lie stubborn, there should be no blows 
and no loud scolding. Stop ; pat him ; pat the other ox ; and he 
will presently move on again. If he lie down, let him lie till he 
is tired ; and when he chooses to get up, treat him very gently, as 
if he had been doing every thing that was right. By these means, 
a young ox will in a few days be broken to his labor. With 
gentle treatment, he is always of the same temper, always of the 
same aptitude to labor.*’ 

Mr. Iurner says, that on the same principle, an experienced 
cavalry officer told him ho did not fear the most vicious horse and 
would soon cure it. He was asked as to his means, and his 
answer was, “Always by mild and gentle treatment and forbear¬ 
ing patience, if you whip them, you make them bad-tempered 
and continually vicious ; but steady kindness and occasional hu¬ 
moring, as far as Avas safe, Avith a hard run hoav and then, to 
let their spirit exhaust itself, constituted always the most success¬ 
ful system.” 

In order to secure the obedience of an animal, its wants and 
inclinations must be humored, and a perfect confidence estab¬ 
lished ; and, besides, the breaker, to gain its good will, should 
train and feed it himself, allowing it occasionally to feel hunger in 
order that it may be more sensible of the attention. Burdacii 
relates an anecdote of a very fine but unmanageable horse in In¬ 
dia, which attacked CA’ery one avIio approached him, but was finally 
subdued bv a groom going up to him three or four times a day 
disguised in a black dress, an unusual color for that country, and 
taking his food away and beating him ; while another groom 
pretended to drive the intruder away, at the same time that he 
restored the food with abundant caresses. 










414 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

It is of the greatest importance to excite and secure the atten¬ 
tion of the animal, and for tins reason, breakers take both horses 
and dogs into quiet and retired spots, where nothing can occur to 
disturb or distract them. An action is produced on the mind of 
an animal by perpetually occupying him with one’s self ; he soon 
learns to understand the modulations of the voice, and knows 
whether blame or praise is intended, and whether rest or exertion 
is enjoined. This gentle treatment makes him soon understand 
each word and gesture of his master’s, and he becomes confident, 
willing, obedient, and docile. 

Many animals are trained to perform certain actions under 
the influence of fear. At one period, in Belgium, dogs were 
taught to carry smuggled goods across the frontier into France. 
After having been frequently beaten by a person dressed up in 
the uniform of a custom-house officer, they acquired such a dread 
of any one in that dress, that they were always on their guard, 
and could not be caught by the real officials. In the same manner, 
the Russian soldiers in the Caucasus have trained their dogs to 
keep watch against any surprise by the Circassians. When the 
dogs are being fed, a man in a Circassian dress takes their food 
from them and beats them, and thus the dogs, having acquired a 
deadly animosity against the whole tribe, give instant alarm as 
soon as they perceive the presence of one of them. 

We are daily witnesses of the docility and cheerful obedience 
of our domestic animals : whole herds allow themselves to be 
driven by a child ; the dog denies its inclination, and allows 
its prey to be taken from it. An elephant that had broken 
loose was retaken, but broke away in a stormy night, and again 
escaped ; after ten years, she was driven bv some elephant hunt¬ 
ers with a herd of wild ones into an enclosure. She was recog¬ 
nized, and called by name, to which she paid some attention, and 
after a time came to the side of the enclosure and received 
food from the hand. She retired and seemed angry when taken 
by the ear and ordered to lie down, but finally a mahout suc¬ 
ceeded in getting on her back and driving her about the enclosure. 










THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 415 

He ordered her to lie down, which she instantly did, nor did she 
rise till she was desired. He fed her from his scat, gave her his 
stick to hold, which she took with her trunk and put into her 
mouth, kept, and then returned it, as she was directed, and as she 
had formerly been accustomed to do. 

Another, which belonged to a gentleman at Calcutta, broke 
loose from her keeper, and was lost in the woods. The excuses 
which the keeper made were not admitted. It was supposed that 
he had sold the elephant; his wife and family therefore were sold 
for slaves, and he was himself condemned to work upon the roads. 
About twelve years afterwards, this man was ordered into the 
country to assist in catching wild elephants. The keeper fancied 
he saw his long-lost beast in a group that was before him. He 
was determined to go up to it; nor could the strongest repre¬ 
sentations of the danger dissuade him from liis purpose. When 
he approached the creature, she knew him ; and giving him three 
salutes, by waving her trunk in the air, knelt down and received 
him on her back. She afterwards assisted in securing the other 
elephants, and likewise brought with her three young ones, which 
she had produced during her absence. The keeper recovered his 

character ; and as a recompense for his sufferings and intrepidity, 

• 

had an annuity settled on him for life. 

Some young camels, traveling with one of the British armies in 
India, had occasion to cross the Jumna in a flat-bottomed boat; 
the novelty of the thing excited their fears to such a degree that 
it seemed impossible to drive or to induce them to enter the boat 
spontaneously ; upon which, one of the mahouts called to his 
elephant, and desired him to drive them in. The animal immedi¬ 
ately put, on a furious appearance, trumpeted with his proboscis, 
shook his ears, reared, struck the ground to the right and left, 
and blew the dust in clouds towards them ; and so effectually sub¬ 
dued one great fear in the refractory camels by exciting a greater, 

• that they bolted into the boat in the greatest hurry, when the 
elephant reassumed his composure, and deliberately walked back 
to his post. 

• 












416 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

The same animal being desired to remove the branch of a tree, 
he did so, and another, and a third in succession ; but being 
directed to tear off another still higher, he looked up, stretched 
his proboscis, and caught only a twig or two and some leaves; 
he was urged again, lie shook his ears, and gave a piping sound of 
displeasure ; but the mahout insisting, after another vain attempt, 
lie caught the bearing pole of a dooly—(a kind of palanquin) 
and shook it with violence, making a poor sick soldier immedi¬ 
ately start out of it. The hint was sufficient — he would not be 
trifled with. 

The mahouts gain such influence over these animals, that they 
might be suspected of having compelled their affections by spells 
and medicines. Captain Skinner, in his “ Excursions in India,” 
relates the following anecdote: “Some fault had been found 
with the driver of a baggage elephant belonging to my regiment, 
and he was dismissed. The elephant had received his lesson, and 
would suffer no other driver to come near him. Several were 
procured, one after the other, with excellent characters for kind¬ 
ness and management, but the gentlest creature seemed suddenly 
transformed into the most ungovernable. A month had passed 
without any return to rule, when the discharged driver was again 
taken into service, and the elephant, delighted to see him, became 

once more lit to use. I have known the same tricks played 

* 

by horses.” 

The elephant, when tamed, becomes the most gentle and most 
obedient of all domestic animals. He is so fond of his keeper, 
that he caresses him, and anticipates his commands. He soon 
learns to comprehend signs, and even to understand the expression 
of sounds. He distinguishes the tones of command, of anger, or 
of approbation, and regulates his actions accordingly. He never 
mistakes the voice of his master. He receives his orders with 
attention, executes them with prudence and eagerness, but without 
any degree of precipitation, for his movements are always meas¬ 
ured, and his character seems to partake of the gravity of his 
bulk. He easilv learns to bend his knees for the accommodation 

V 










THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 417 

of those who mount him. lie caresses his friends with his trunk ; 
salutes with it such people as are pointed out to him, uses it for 
raising burdens, and assists in loading himself. A word is 
sufficient to guide him, if lie has had time to acquire a complete 
acquaintance with his conductor, and to put entire confidence in 
him. 

Punishment and reward vary extremely in their natures accord- 
• ing to circumstances ; the lesson is a pleasure to the sporting dog 
because he is released from confinement and allowed to range; 
the horse, on the contrary, looks to his stall as the reward for his 
task, and shows no alarm at the report of a pistol if it announces 
the end of his labor. Cut in all cases instruction is the easiest 
when it is in accordance with the nature and disposition of the 
animal, and thus birds arc readily taught to pipe a simple melody, 
and dogs, if employed according to their respective qualifications, 
require comparatively little training. The pelican and cormorant 
are trained to fish, and the falcon to hunt; the only difficulty lies 
in making their natures subject to human control. The Baschkirs 
to the present day employ the falcon in the chase of hares, foxes, 
and wolves. 

But if it be intended to teach animals to perform actions 
entirely at variance with their natural habits and instincts, much 
labor and art are both necessary, for among other things they 
must be made to learn that one action is dependent on another, 
and that one thing being done, another follows as a consequence. 

Thus the snake-tamers in the East teach their snakes to rear 
themselves, or to dance, as they call it, when they hear the sound 
of their little pipe. The bear, too, is taught to dance by being 
placed on iron plates, which being heated, compel him to raise his 
feet alternately ; and as this process is accompanied with music, 
he learns to rear himself up and to move about in a kind of 
dancing manner whenever he hears the sounds of music. Dogs 
and other animals that have been taught tricks are trained to be 
observant of some particular movement of their master’s body, or 
the position of his leg, to indicate to them the card they are to 

27 











418 THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 

select, or the exact point they are to make. Some which have 
been taught by blowing in their ears, require no other signal than 
the action of the lips to direct their movements. 

A cat was exhibited in London in 1828, that had been trained 
to beat a drum, strike on an anvil, draw water from a well, ring 
bells, and roast coffee. The “ learned pig,” which was well known 
as making the round of most public fairs, could pick out from an 
alphabet on the ground, on being ordered, and without mistake, 
the letters that were wanted for the name of any persons present, ' 
and also the figures of the hour. The watch was placed to its 
eye, but the secret directing signs must have been previously 
established between it and its master. It went round a paper 
dial on the floor, and placed its snout first on the hour, and then, 
in another circuit, on the minutes. There was no visible concert 
that could be traced, so that the assisting tokens were therefore 
the more intellectual. 

A curious exhibition took place a few years since in France. 
Two Italians had a number of pigeons which were placed in 
cages, and from ten to twelve of the same color were put together. 
By dint of great patience and perseverance they had been taught 
several feats of the most varied nature, and quite opposed to their 
usual habits. As soon as the cages were opened, the pigeons 
ascended, mixed together and flew away ; but on a signal, those 
of the same color separated from the rest and came back together, 
each flight entering the appropriate cage. Carpets of different 
colors were placed upon the ground, and nets being spread, each 
flight on a given signal went to the carpet, or to the net pointed 
out for it. A flight of pigeons were then let loose, and a man 
having fired over them, they instantly flew to him and entered 
his game bag. This bird, which never before had been seen to 
mix in martial exercises, placed itself before the gun which was 
about to be fired at it, and did not move when it was discharged; 
it even took a lighted match in its beak, and perched itself upon 
a cannon, which it discharged by applying the lighted match to 
the touch-hole. 









THE SUBJUGATION OF ANIMALS. 419 

These few simple examples are sufficient to prove that animals 
are prompt and willing in receiving instruction, but many have 
an intuitive perception of what is expected of them, and of the 
duty they owe to their masters. Lichtenstein states that it is 
not unusual, at the Cape, for several dogs to go out on a self¬ 
hunting expedition, and having run down their game, for one of 
them to return home, and by its restless solicitations to induce 
some person to follow him to fetch the booty; while the others 
remain on the spot to guard it from predatory animals, content¬ 
ing themselves by licking the blood, and waiting for the entrails 
as their share ot the feast. Peron declares that the English seal- 
hunters on the South Seas had dogs which performed an ecpially 
sagacious part. Azara saw dogs in Paraguay which did the duty 
of herdsmen, driving out the flocks of sheep and goats to their 
pastures, attending, and defending them all day, and driving them 
home in the evening. 

It would be easy to deduce many more examples of the powers 
of training, and of the facilities of acquirement in animals, but 
the subject is almost too familiar, and proofs surround us on every 
side illustrative of the benefits we receive, of the services we gain, 
and of the pleasures we enjoy, by our associations with the animal 
world, of which even the most unthinking must be susceptible. 












A ROMAN WOMAN. 


CITIES OF ITALY. 

ITE more renowned cities of Italy are not only strikingly 
different from those places in this country called cities, 
hut they are, in certain respects, different from all the 
other cities of the world. Some are peculiar from local circum¬ 
stances, and all arc marked by antiquity ; most are representatives 
of ages gone by, preserving alike, remnants of past history and 
manners and customs which have faded away. All are filled with 
boundless treasures of art; all present mournful contrasts between 
past glory and present decay. To an American, they are so 
[420] 



/• • 



















ROME. 421 

distinct from anything and everything he lias been accustomed to 
associate with the idea of cities, as to be subjects of startling 
interest and untiring curiosity. How different is Rome from 

New York! the one living only in the past, the other in the 
present: the one a tomb of the mighty dead, the other the echoing 
arena of active, energetic life : the one with palaces and churches, 
filled with images of gods, heroes, and saints, the exploded myths 
of antiquity; the other crowded with ships and steamers, and 
holding intercourse with all the world; the focus of lightning 
telegraphs that overspread a continent; the depot of railroads 
that radiate to every point of the compass; the ringing anvil of 
a hundred foundries; the busy workshop of a thousand useful 
arts; the commercial emporium of the New World! How 
startling is the contrast between Rome, the type of dead and 
dying Italy, and New York, the representative of young, vigorous 
America! And yet this contrast is the source of that half¬ 
wondering, half reverend interest, with which the people of this 
country, above all others, look upon the leading cities of the Old 
World, and especially those which have largely figured in its 
earlier history. In a work like this, which seeks to bringdbefore 
its readers some of the curiosities of history and art, as well as of 
nature, a few words descriptive of the principal cities of Italy, 
should find a place. t 

$hmu. 

Rome is situated on both sides of the Tiber, a small, muddy, 
and winding stream, 300 feet in width, whose general course here 
is from northwest to southeast. It is surrounded by a wall 
about fourteen miles in circuit, being entered by twelve gates. 

Not more than a third part of the enclosed area is covered with 
buildings ; the rest consisting of ruins, gardens, and fields. 

The older part of the ancient city, where the principal ruins are 
found, are on the southern side, but chiefly within the walls. 

The ground occupied by the city is generally low, scarcely more 

\ 










422 C r T I E S OF ITALY. 

than twenty feet above the level of the river. Of the seven hills 
which make so prominent a figure in ancient history, the Palatine 
alone appears now to be of considerable elevation. It comprises 
a space of about forty acres, and once had precipitous edges, but 
these are now graded away. The Capitoline hill comprises 
about sixteen acres, and has steep sides. All the rest are easy of 
ascent, and* are, in fact, mere eminences. 

Rome, the modern city, impresses the beholder as dull and 
dirty, and, with few exceptions, meanly built. Most of the streets 
are narrow, crooked, and badly lighted. The chief exception is 
the Corso, which extends in a straight line for more than a mile, 
from the Porta del Popolo to the foot of the Capitoline hill. 
This is about fifty feet in width, with narrow, broken, and 
inconvenient side-walks. It is lined with a number of palaces, 
exhibiting little external beauty, but which, within, display im¬ 
mense treasures of art, and other signs of luxurv. Two other 
streets — the Strada di Ripetta, and the Strada del Babiuno— 
diverging from the open space before the Pope’s palace, arc long, 
straight, and tolerably wide. With these exceptions, the streets 
are mean looking, the buildings having a shabby and dilapidated 
appearance. The private houses are usually from three to five 
storeys in height, built of tufa or brick, and plastered over. With 
these are intermixed many huge old buildings, once called palaces, 
which contrast strangely with the surrounding slight, mean tene¬ 
ments, by their bulk, height, and air of antique grandeur. Most 
of them are, however, degraded by dilapidated and absurd 
ornaments. In consequence of the decay of the families to which 
these once proud edifices belonged, many of them are now r turned 
into hotels, or ecclesiastical colleges, or are let to foreign ambas¬ 
sadors and wealthy strangers. Of those which have escaped this 
fate, the lower story is sometimes let for shops, and sometimes 
retained for stables, coach-houses, and servants’ rooms. The 
second story is generally a picture gallery, consisting of a suite of 
rooms, all opening into each other, and richly adorned with 
marble and painted ceilings. The owner of the building occupies 











ROME. 423 

the upper storeys, throwing open his galleries to artists and 
visitors, who are expected to give small sums to the servants; 
the money thus obtained contributing to the support of the 
proprietor. 

Of these ancient but now impoverished palaces, there are said 
to be three hundred ; but many arc of inferior magnitude, and 
most are utterly degraded from their original use. The houses 
of the mass of the people, arc, in general, mean and comfortless. 
The habits of those who occupy them, conform to the squalid- 
ness of their abodes. In passing through the streets, a stranger 
cannot but feel oppressed at the general spectacle of filth, pov¬ 
erty, and degradation that pervades the city. 

Among the public buildings of modern Rome, the Campidoglio, 
or modern capitol, deserves notice, as being one of the best 
architectural works of Michael Angelo ; it also contains the 
Dying Gladiator, and some other of the most noted groups of 
statuary in the world. The road to it is by a labyrinth of narrow, 
dirty streets, leading from the Corso to two flights of steps, at 
the foot of one of which are two basaltic lions. At the top are 
colossal equestrian statues of Castor and Pollux, on a line with 
which stand several other statues and trophies. Opposite the 
steps is the Senator’s palace ; the two other sides being occupied 
by the Palazzo di Conservatori, and the Museo Capitolino, the 
garden of which overhangs the Tarpeian rock, 

“ Fittest goal of treason’s race, 

The promontory whence the traitor’s leap. 

Cured all ambition.” 

But, owing to the accumulation of soil at the bottom, this leap 
might now be taken without any very extraordinary risk. 

The Vatican, the most ancient and by far the most celebrated 
of the Papal palaces, is a mass of buildings erected at various 
times, by different popes, and is said to cover a space about 
1,200 feet in length, by 1,000 in breadth, and to comprise 4,000 










424 CITIES OF ITALY. 

apartments. “ The effect, however,” says Burton, “ is anything 
but pleasing ; from no point of view does it present any extent of 
front, or magniiicence of design ; while its proximity to St. Peter’s 
interferes most unfortunately with the view of that building.” 

The interior consists of a suite of galleries of small breadth, 
which, if placed in a continuous line, would extend two miles in 
length. It contains a countless multitude of inscriptions, statues, 
busts, relievos, urns, sarcophagi, and vases, to say nothing of its 
literary and numismatic treasures, its books, manuscripts, draw¬ 
ings ; the number of which the visitor can only guess at, by 
counting the presses that conceal them from his sight. Taken 
altogether, it is by far the richest museum in Europe, and the 
precious objects it contains are magnificently lodged ; for, when 
the church was rich, she patronized the arts liberally, both by 
buying and building ; and even now the posthumous benevolence 
of popes and cardinals occasionally expends itself in erecting a 
new gallery, or embellishing an old one. The collection of sculp¬ 
tures is beyond all comparison the largest and most valuable in 
Europe, comprising, among other great works, the unequaled 
group of Laocoox and his sons, which even Michael Angelo 
despaired of being able to restore ; the celebrated Apollo 
Belvidere, found at Actium near the close of the fifteenth cen¬ 
tury ; the well-known group of the Nile and his offspring ; the 
Belvidere Torso of Hercules and Hebe ; a noble statue of 
Adonis, and another of Marcellus, with an excellent bust of 
Pius VII, by Canova. The library of the Vatican is alleged to 
comprise about eighty thousand printed books, and thirty-five 
thousand manuscripts ; but, in point of fact, its literary riches are 
unknown, the catalogues having never been completed. Among 
the paintings are several of the grandest productions of the great 
Italian masters, especially Raphael, Dominichtno, Titian, and 
Gulio Romano. 

The churches in Rome are numerous, and manv of them are 
alike costly and beautiful, distinguished for the elegance of their 
architecture and the splendor of their interior decorations. At 












ROME. 425 

the head of these stands the matchless structure of St. Peter’s. 
Byron, in a strain of poetic fervor, speaks of it: 

“ Thou, of temples old, or altars new, 

Standest alone, with nothing like to thee — 

Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. 

Since Zion's desolation, when that He 

Forsook his former city, what could be, 

Of earthly structures in his honor piled, 

Of a sublimer aspect ? Majesty, 

Power, glory, strength, and beauty, all are aisled 

In this eternal ark of worship undefiled! ” 

Nevertheless, this edifice seems rather like a palace, to feed the 
pride of man, than a temple to lift the soul in chastened humilia¬ 
tion to God. It is a superb museum of art, a gorgeous display of 
rich marbles, costly mosaics, grand paintings, noble sculptures, 
all subsidiary to a sublime architecture. The general effect is that 
of imposing grandeur, decked in a style of dazzling magnificence. 

It is royal, but not religious: it is a fit place for the proud 
king-pontiff, in his robes, his pride, and his power; but not for 
the successor of St. Peter, the humble,* fisherman-Apostle. As a 
mere specimen of art, as a triumph of human skill and human 
conception, St. Peter’s is indeed an object worthy of unbounded 
admiration. It was begun in 1506, and completed in 1614. It 
covers nearly five acres of ground, and cost seventy-five millions of 
dollars. It is, unquestionably, the noblest building ever reared 
by human hands: “ the only work of art,” as Madame De Stael 
observes, “ which produces an impression of grandeur akin to 
that which we receive from the works of nature.” 

Of the other churches w r e have not space to give a description. 

The classical monuments of the city are its chief attraction. The 
most imposing of these are the Forum, Palace of the Caesars, 

Baths of Caracalla, and the Coliseum. Though within the walls, 
on the southern side of the city, and beyond the present center of 
population, all these are gigantic structures ; in their enormous 














426 CITIES OF ITALY. 

extent and huge massiveness, entirely beyond all modern ideas of 
architecture. They are, however, of a barbarous character. They 
show indeed the amazing power and wealth of the emperors who 
constructed these works, but they also display the actual poverty 
of art, for there is not one of them that can furnish a useful sug¬ 
gestion to even a house-carpenter. 

The vain and transitory nature of the ideas and institutions 
which gave birth to these miracles of labor, strikes the reflecting 
mind with a deep and painful sense of humiliation. The Coliseum, 
the most sublime monument of accumulated human toil, regarded 
as to its gigantic proportions, was erected for amusements now 
held to be alike cruel and revolting ; the baths of Caracalla — 
whole acres covered with mounds of brick — were constructed to 
minister to fashionable luxuries, which, at the present day, would 
be regarded as infamous. In modern times, the same accommo¬ 
dation would be obtained with one twentieth part of the labor 
expended upon these establishments! The vanity, the boasting, 
the ostentation of conquerors which gave birth to the triumphal 
arches, would at this day be looked upon with universal contempt. 

The temples were erected to gods which have vanished into thin 
air. The aqueducts, whose ruins stretch across the gloomy Cam- 
pagna, looking like long lines of marching mastodons, were erected 
in ignorance of that familiar fact, visible to any one who looks 
into a tea-pot, that water will rise to its level! 

Just without the walls of the city arc a number of villas, chiefly 
built by cardinals, whose riches, taste, leisure and learning, con¬ 
spired to create these beautiful retreats. The Villa Borghese 
includes pleasure-grounds that are a favorite resort of the Romans; 
the mansion, with its admirable collection of pictures, of marbles 
and festoons, is even more attractive. The Villa Albani, planned 
by the cardinal of that name, contains an exceedingly choice and 
valuable collection of articles, illustrative of art and history. 

In another direction, that is, on the south-eastern side, are 
objects of a very different character, but still more absorbing 
interest. Here is the Appian Way of ancient Rome, some of the 












ROME. 427 

very paving stones, worn with the wheels of the time of the Caesars, 
being still visible. On both sides of this, there is a series of 
tombs, more than four miles in length. These are mostly destroyed 
or in a state of partial decay, showing, however, that here was a 
city of the dead. A few are so far preserved as to prove that they 
belonged to some ot the nobler families of ancient Rome. The 
most celebrated is that of Cecilia Metella, the daughter of 
Quintus Metellus, and wife of Crassus, erected about G6 B. C. 

It consists of a circular tower, nearly seventy feet in diameter, 
and from its solidity seeming built for eternity. Lord Byron 
thus describes this interesting monument: 

“There is a stern round tower of other davs. 

Firm as a fortress with its fence of stone, 

Such as an army’s baffled strength delays, 

Standing with half its battlements alone, 

And with two thousand years of ivy grown, 

The garland of eternity, where wave 

The green leaves over all by time o’ertlirown. 

What was this tower of strength ? within its cave 

What treasure lay so locked, so hid ? A woman’s grave ! 

But who was she, the lady.of the dead, 

Tombed in a palace ? Was she chaste and fair ? 

Worthy a king’s — or more — a Roman’s bed? 

What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear? 

What daughter of her beauties was the heir? 

How lived — how loved — how died she? Was she not 

So honored and conspicuously there, 

Where meaner relics must not dare to rot 

Placed to commemorate a more than mortal lot ? 

Perchance she died in youth; it may be bowed 

With woes far heavier than the proudest tomb 

That weighed upon her gentle dust; a cloud 

Might gather o’er her beauty, and a gloom 

In her dark eyes, prophetic of the doom 

Heaven gives its favorites — early death; yet shed 

A sunset charm around her, and illume 

With hectic light the sleeping of the dead, 

Of her consuming cheek, the autumnal leaf-like red. 













428 


CITIES OF ITALY. 


Perchance she died in age — surviving all 
Charms, kindred, children—with the silver play 
Of her long tresses, which might yet recall, 

It may he, still a something of the day 
When they were braided, and her proud array 
And lovely form were envied, praised and eyed 
By Rome—but whither would conjecture stray? 

Tims much alone we know — Metella died, 

The wealthiest Roman’s wife: behold his love or pride ! ” 

One of the most remarkable circumstances connected with Rome 
is the Campagna, a tract of undulating land, some six or eight 
miles in width, which encircles it. It is now a mere pasture for 
sheep, goats and cattle ; though once thickly peopled, as the 
stacks of ruins in various directions attest, it is without human 
inhabitants, except a few travelers, whose business leads them 
across it, or shepherds and herdsmen, who visit it by day, but fly 
from it by night. It is infected by a malaria , that entails disease 
and death upon him who ventures to breathe it at night. The 
Eternal City is therefore belted by a region of the shadow of death, 
and this has come upon it in modern times, since it has claimed 
to be the great light of the Church, the focus of Christianity, the 
scat of the representative of God on earth ! 

The inhabitants of Rome are of a very mixed race, and it would 
be absurd to expect, in the mass, any considerable portion of 
ancient Roman blood. There is, however, on the southern side 
of the Tiber, a small district, occupied by people who profess 
to be lineal descendants of the old Roman stock. They are said 
to hold intercourse only with each other, and not to marry beyond 
the limits of their tribe. They are generally of a stout frame, 
with broad faces, swarthy complexions, large dark eyes, and a 
somewhat sad and brooding expression of countenance. In gen¬ 
eral, the men, among the common classes of Rome, wear hats with 
crowns like a sugar-loaf, very wide cloaks, pieces of cloth tied 
about the legs with cords, and sandals instead of shoes. The 
women usually wear a scarlet spencer with sleeves, and for a 















ROME. • 429 

liead-dress a piece of white linen, thickened on the crown by 
numerous folds, and with one end hanging down behind to the 
shoulders. Want of cleanliness is a pervading vice. 

The streets, public places, houses and persons of the bulk of 
the population, would all be improved by a dispensation of scrub¬ 
bing, washing and combing. Some of the most interesting objects 
are inaccessible from the accumulation of filth. The appearance 
of the monks is absolutely disgusting. Their holiness is for the 
most part invisible, but their dirt and vermin are notorious. 

The manners of the upper classes are indicative of extreme 
indolence. They rise late, and are rarely seen till four in the 
afternoon, when they take a drive up and down the Corso, which, 
narrow as it is, may bo termed the Broadway of Rome, after 
which they resort to soirees in private houses. To walk in Rome 
is unfashionable ; hence, a carriage of some kind is indispensable, 
even to those of the noblesse or gentry, whose limited incomes 
deny them a comfortable meal. 

In the month of May, all the inhabitants that can afford it go 
to the country for two months, and again in October for the same 
period, the air of the Campagna being then purified by the rains 
of April and September. On these occasions, they live in the 
petty towns, ten or fifteen miles from Rome, their chief amusement 
consisting in catching little fish and small birds. 

The public amusements consist of theatrical amusements, the 
opera, bull-fights, tumbling, horse-riding and concerts. Religious 
ceremonies, with occasional frolics on festive occasions, however, 
furnish the highest entertainments of the people. The Carnival 
appears to be traditionally descended from the licentious satur¬ 
nalia of the ancient Romans, blent with the orgies of the feast of 
Cybele. On this occasion, rich draperies are hung from the 
windows, and the streets become the scene of a general masquer¬ 
ade, every one disguising himself as he pleases, and walking about 
the city in jest and buffoonery. One of the chief amusements is 
a promiscuous pelting of sugar plums or chalk stones. It is a 
universal scene of license, intrigue and unbridled mirth, in which 











' 430 • CITIES OF ITALY. 

all rank is leveled, and all dignity banished. Such is the great 
religious festival of the Catholic church at Rome 

DcuLcx. 

The appearance of this city, from whatever side it may be 
approached, is striking and singular in the extreme. Owing to 
the lowness of the islands on which it is built, it seems actually to 
float upon the sea : 

“From out the wave her structures rise, 

As from the stroke of the enchanter’s wand.” 

It is divided into two principal portions of nearly equal size by 
the Grand Canal, a serpentine channel, varying from one hundred 
to one hundred and eighty feet in width, and crossed by the prin¬ 
cipal bridge of the city, the celebrated Rialto. 

The various islands which form the foundations of these two 
grand divisions are connected by numerous bridges, which, being 
intended only for foot passengers, are very steep, and cut into 
steps on either side. The canals crossed by these bridges inter¬ 
sect every part of the town, and form the “water streets” of 
Venice — by far the greater part of the intercourse of the city 
being carried on by means of gondolas or barges. 

But, besides the canals, Venice is every where traversed by 
streets or passages, which, however, are only from four to six feet 
in width ; nearly all the principal houses have one of these lanes 
on one side, and a canal on the other. The latter, however, is 
the grand thoroughfare, and gondolas or canal boats are here the 
universal substitute for carriages and horses. They are generally 
long, narrow, light vessels, painted black, according to a law of 
the city. Though rowed only by a single gondolier with one oar, 
they cut their way through the water with extraordinary velocity. 
In the middle is an apartment furnished with glass windows, 
blinds, and cushions, for the accommodation of four persons. 
Some of the gondolas belonging to private families are magnifi- 








VENICE. 431 

centl}’ fitted up. The charge for a gondola is about twenty cents 
an hour ; and with it, one may soon visit every part of the cit}\ 
Venice has a large number of private palaces, some of which are 
in a fine style of architecture. Many of its public edifices are more 
remarkable for gorgeousness and display, than purity of style and 
taste. The most celebrated in the city, is the church of St. Mark, 
exhibiting a mixture of Gothic, Saracenic, and Roman architect¬ 
ure. It seems to be neither a church nor a mosque, but something 
between the two ; too low for grandeur, too heavy for beauty ; no 
just proportion being observed among the different parts. 

^ enice has little to associate it with that period—five cen¬ 
turies ago — when its fleets commanded the Mediterranean, and 
its merchants controlled the commerce of the world. Everv thine: 
is smitten with decay. The whole-population is less than one 
hundred thousand, and is diminishing from year to } T ear. The 
galleries still present immense treasures of art, but many of the 
proudest monuments of Venetian glory are in ruins ; nevertheless, 
most travelers seem to find this city a delightful residence. The 
manners of the enetians are said to be marked with licentiousness 
among the higher classes, and the lower present revolting spectacles 
of poverty, dirt and degradation. The people, however, arc 
marked with a general character of politeness, good humor and 
cheerfulness, which make a favorable impression upon a stranger. 
Byron has happily summed up the story of this city in a 
single stanza : 

“In Venice, Tasso’s echoes are no more, 

And silent rows the songless gondolier; 

Her palaces are crumbling to the shore, 

And music meets not always now the ear. 

Those days are gone — but Beauty still is here. 

States fall — arts fade— but Nature doth not die ; 

Nor yet forget how Venice once was dear, 

The pleasant place of all festivity, 

The revel of the earth, the masque of Italy! ” 










432 


CITIES OP ITALY. 



We have already given a brief notice of Naples, and though 
many other cities of Italy abound in topics of interest, we have 
space only for a description of Florence, alike renowned for its his¬ 
tory and its treasures of art. A sketch, written on the spot, some 
two years since, will give the reader a general idea of this place. 

One’s first impression on walking through the streets of Flor¬ 
ence can hardly be agreeable. They are narrow, irregular, and 
gloomy. The prevalence of the old lofty palaces, excluding the sun, 
and permitting only a narrow strip of the sky to appear between 
their wide projecting eaves, at once strikes the observer. The 
streets, though universally paved, like those of Leghorn, with flat, 
irregular slabs of gneiss — thus providing for cleanliness and the 
easy progress of wheeled vehicles— are mostly without sidewalks, 
and sloping towards the middle, present, during the rainy season, 























FLORENCE. 433 

a constant ripple of muddy water. As I looked, from a central 
point, across the Arno, the view had a pitiable resemblance to 
Paris from the Pont Neuf—as if I saw through a reversed teles¬ 
cope, or in some unhappy dream, the great center of the world’s 
luxury and comfort, dwindled into a paltry and neglected suburb. 

It chanced, however, that one dull and drizzly morning, I took 
my way afoot, through the widest of the narrow streets, careless 
as to whither it might lead me. Having' crossed the Ponte Car- 
raja, I came, after a walk of about twenty minutes, to one of the 
gates of the city. My pocket guide showed this to lie the Porto 
Roinana, situated at the southwesterly angle of the city. I passed 
out, and falling into an ascending avenue, bordered by towering 
cypresses, soon came to an open square with a fine building behind 
it. Upon the green were a body of Austrian troops undergoing the 
exercise of their morning drill. Turning to the right, and pursu¬ 
ing a spiral course, up and down the hills, I found myself upon the 
edge of a cliff, the slope of which was covered with villas ; from 
this point I had an admirable view of the valley of the Arno, 
with Florence at my feet. 

Those who arc familiar with the topography of the city, will 
easily comprehend that I had wandered to the enchanting heights 
of Bellosguardo. From this place I had the city and its environs 
like a map before me. I could trace the river, flowing from 
northeast to southwest, and could count its six bridges. There 
was the Cathedral of the Duomo, its dome the largest in the 
world, rising nearly in the center, and dwarfing nearly all the 
other monuments into comparative insignificance. 1 could trace 
every foot of the walls of the town, forming in their general out¬ 
line, very nearly a square. The lofty shaft of the Palazzo Vecchio 
rose up by the side of the Duomo —-a spare Smike in the immedi¬ 
ate neighborhood of that Falstaff of cupolas. Other prominent 
spires and antique towers, scattered here and there, told of the • 
supremacy which religion once claimed over the population. The 
constant music of bells and chimes, which stole faintly and 
sweetly out of the town to the cliffs of Bellosguardo, reminded 

28 

j 

i 

























/ 



434 CITIES OF ITALY. 

me that it had not altogether lost its influence in modern times. 
Nearly at my feet was the Pitti Palace, the residence of the 
Grand Duke, and behind it, in lawn and slope, in precipice and 
promenade, in flowery parterre and bosky cliff, in peaceful grotto 
and frowning battlements, in glassy fountains and plunging 
cascades, all mingled in enchanting variety, lay its unrivaled 
grounds —the Boboli Gardens—a royal playground five days 
out of the seven, and' a public promenade on Sundays and 
Thursdays. 

Such was Florence in a bird's eye view: a condensed, concise, 
terse little city, and royal residence, of one hundred thousand 
inhabitants. The landscape around was at once remarkable and 
charming. The season was, you will remember, early December. 
The weather had been wet and chill. But while I was looking 
upon the scene, the clouds broke apart and lazily floated away, 
dragging their gilded fringes up the mountain slopes, and slowly 
disappearing in the distance. To the south, they disclosed the 
snow-capped peaks of the Morello range, the familiar barometer 
of the Florentines ; and to the cast, still more elevated and snowy 
heights. Between these two spreading branches of the Apennines, 
lay rolling masses of hills, falling in successive slopes down to the 
very banks of the Arno. 

It is true that the mountain sides were altogether bare, or pre¬ 
sented here and there only the ferruginous tints of a few faded 
dwarf oaks: the hills between the mountains had lost their 
verdure, save only that the pale olive orchards waved slightly in 
the morning breeze; the mulberry plantations were stripped of 
their leaves, or if any remained, they were of a yellow hue ; the 
vine and the fig-tree were leafless. Yet never have I witnessed a 
landscape which presented a more general aspect of cheerfulness, 
comfort and content. From the city up to the very top of the 
hills, and indeed far away among the mountains, there was a con¬ 
stant succession of villas, simple or sumptuous, in the midst of 
gardens and orchards ; of meadows still green, of fields already 
ripe with the next year’s crop. It was in truth an amphitheater 














FLORENCE. 


435 


of hills, overspread with tasteful residences embedded in smiling 
orchards, bounded only by the horizon or b)' the snow-crested 
mountains. And over all this was shining a soft golden morning, 
while on the listening ear came the distant bells of the city, with 
familiar sounds from the farm-yard, the barking of dogs, and the 
voices of children at play. If such is the scene in December, what 
must it be in June, when the air is full of odors, and the night¬ 
ingale sings in every copse? 

Thus far, I have spoken only geographically of the scene. 
Viewed historically, the prospect was equally remarkable. There, 
to the north, was Fiesole, going back to the Etruscans, and still 
presenting Cyclopean vestiges of its Pelasgic population; the 
heights of San Miniato, an ancient fortress, commanded by 
Michael Angelo in the defence of Florence; the Torro Del 
Gallo, renowned as the site of Galileo’s Observatory, and the 
residence of Milton, alluded to in his description of Satan’s 
Shield ; Villa Mozzi, the country seat of the Medici family, and 
celebrated alike in the dark pages of Machiavelli and the poetic 
outbursts of Hallam ; Vallambrosia, not actually in view, but its 
hills peering suggestively over other hills, on the verge of the 
horizon ; with a score of other places, all famous in story, and in 
the annals of poetry and art. 




























THE FAT-TAILED SHEEP. 

E are so in the habit of regarding the sheep as a tame, 
useful beast, growing up as a matter of course in 
'* ' u nearly every farm yard, and supplying everybody with 
mutton and wool, that we are scarcely led to inquire into its 
natural history ; and yet this is a field which presents a great 
variety of curious and pleasing facts. 

In the island of Corsica, and some other islands of the Mediter¬ 
ranean, there is a wild animal called mouflon, which is imagined 
to be the original stock of all the domestic breeds of sheep. The 
latter are, however, of such variety, amounting perhaps to hun¬ 
dreds, and some of them are of such peculiar and eccentric qualities, 
as to make this opinion extremely doubtful, if not improbable. 
It is quite possible, however, that most of the European breeds 
are descended from the mouflon. 

This animal lias been known from antiquity, and is described 
with tolerable accuracy by Strabo and Pliny. It inhabits the 
mountains, and lives in flocks, its love of society being so strong 
that if one is left alone it pines away and dies. Its size is con- 
1436] 





































THE FAT-TAILED SHEEP. 


43 


o ( 


siucrably above that ot the cultivated sheep ; its horns arc trian¬ 
gular, becoming blade-shaped at the points. They are so large 
at the base as nearly to meet and cover the head : their divergence 
is at right angles. The covering is of two kinds, a short, line, 
curly wool, with long, coarse, bristly hair ; the latter giving color 
to the animal, which is sometimes yellow and sometimes black, 
and frequently mixed or mottled with these two shades. 

1 he argali is the wild sheep of northern Asia, and so closely 
resembles the niouflon as to be often confounded with it: some 
naturalists, indeed, hold that it is but a variety of that animal. 
In the Rocky Mountains ol the United States, there are wild 
sheep supposed to be identical with the argali. 

We come now to some of the more curious varieties of the 
domestic sheep. The merino, noted for the fineness of its wool, 
seems to have originated in Spain, and has thence been distributed 
to this country, and other parts of the world. About forty years 
ago, there was great speculation in merino sheep, sometimes a 
whole farm being given for a single rain. The diffusion of 
this breed has resulted in an extensive production of fine wool, 
and has thus greatly contributed to the comfort and luxury of 
society. 

The merino, however, is not esteemed for its mutton, and hence 
other breeds are preferred, especially in England, as being, on the 
whole, more profitable. Among the many varieties cultivated in 
that country, arc the Lincoln, Tees-water, and Dishley breeds, all 
noted for their long wool; the Devonshire Nets, esteemed for 
thriving upon bleak and barren pastures ; the Southdowns, noted 
for short, fine fleeces, and rich mutton ; the Hereford, small but 
handsome, and having fine fleeces and fine flesh ; the Dorset, 
similar to the Southdowns, and even preferred for similar quali¬ 
ties ; the Norfolk, big and bony, and thriving upon turnips, which 
abound in that county ; the Cheviot, lovers of the hills, and good 
for crossing with other breeds ; and the Black-faced, bold, daring 
rangers of the heaths and mountains of Scotland—of coarse fleeces 
hut excellent for their flesh—thriving upon poor fare, and braving 
















438 


THE FAT-TAILED SHEEP. 


the severities of winter. This vigorous animal is supposed to be 
the progenitor of all the British breeds. 

Africa seems to be distinguished for breeds of sheep, marked 
with peculiarities and widely distinct from each other. Among 
these are found the bearded sheep, living in the mountains of 
Barbary : it is nearly twice the size of the common sheep ; the horns 
are two feet long, and turned backwards ; the color is a rusty 
black ; the hair coarse, like that of a goat, straying in shaggy 
masses down the sides, to the knees ; the cheeks are furnished 
with long hairs, dividing into two tufts, and forming a beard that 
might humble the pride of many a modern dandy, whose glory 
lies in his locks. A cousin of this breed is the long-tailed sheep, 
found in Central Africa. The Morocco breed is noted for its little 
cars and horns, the latter curving outwards. The Guinea sheep 
has pendulous ears, and goitres on the sides of its neck, and fre¬ 
quently is without wool, though it has, instead, a silky mane. The 
Congo sheep is lank, feeble, and without wool, which is a great 
mercy, in as much as its country is one of the hottest in the world. 
Of the famous Angola sheep, there are several varieties ; but, in 
general, they are noted for tine hairy fleeces, a long tail, pendulous 
ears, and lumps of curdy fat, one under the chin, and the other on 
the back and sides of the head. These are not diseased parts, 
but are provisions of nature, similar to the hunches of a camel, 
which supply the animal with nutriment at those seasons when the 
vegetation is parched and withered by the heat of the tropical 
climate which it inhabits. 

Lastly, of these curious African breeds, we must notice the 
Hottentot, or fat-tailed sheep, common in the vicinity of the Cape 
of Good Hope. This creature has a mass of fatty substance, accu¬ 
mulated on both sides of the tail, sometimes to the weight of 
twenty pounds. One of these was formerly in the Garden of 
Plants, at Paris, and its tail was supported by a little car—a 
board laid on a pair of wheels, which the animal drew behind him. 
The tail of this species of sheep is esteemed a great delicacy. 

Asia has, also, its peculiar races of this useful animal. Among 
























THE PAT -TAILED SHEEP. 


439 


them is the Astrakhan breed, which produces what are called 
Siberian lamb-skins, or Crimean furs. These are, in fact, the skins 
of lambs taken from their mothers before their birth — these 
mothers being sacrificed for this object — a fact which strikes us 
as at once cruel and revolting. At such a price, however, the 
luxury of man is supplied. 

In the Caucasus, there are sheep with spiral horns, whose tails 
trail on the ground ; in Siberia, there are breeds with four horns : 
in Central Asia, there are fat-rumped breeds. In India, there arc 
varieties without wool, and so lean as to look like walking skeletons. 
China, also, has its breeds of sheep ; but in the two latter coun 
tries, India and China, the people eat little flesh, and have not 
much need of warm clothing. Feeding on rice, and clothed in 
cotton, they pay little attention to the breeding of sheep ; and 
hence avc are not surprised to find among them, these animals 
without wool and almost without flesh. 
























T 11 R <; U K A T C F. M E T K K Y OF 6 K il T A K 1 . 


SKUTARI. 


IvUTARI, with a population of forty or fifty thousand, is 
at once a town and a suburb of Constantinople, being 



vVy situated on the Asiatic, or eastern side of the Bosphorus, 
a mile and a half from Seraglio Point—this being the width of 
the strait, which here divides the two continents. It is situated 
on the declivity of several hills, and has a picturesque appearance 
from the opposite shores. It was constructed in the time of the 
early Persian monarchy, and received the name of Chrysopolis, or 
the Golden Town. It was in remote days what it is now, the 
post-station for carriers arriving from Asia, the rendezvous of 
caravans for Europe, and the point whence travelers make their 
departure for all the interior parts of Asia. 

Fkutari possesses several objects of interest. Among them are 
[ 440 ] 




















SKUTAKI. 441 

a palace ol tlic Sultan, with extensive gardens; a number of 
mosques, baths, and convents. Among the latter is that of the 
ltulai, or howling dervises, who begin their services with a prayer, 
spreading a lambskin, instead of a carpet, to kneel or sit upon. 
After the customary prayer, Namaz, repeated five times each day 
by every mussulman, they seat themselves and pray the Fatha. 
followed by ejaculations, such as “Blessings on our prophet, the 
lord of messengers, and on his family and companions ; blessings 
also on Abraham, his family and companions.” After this, various 
ceremonies take place, until at last they whirl round, bending 
their bodies and reciting verses, while a sort of anthem is per¬ 
formed by a chorus of howlers. The motion is gradually accelera¬ 
ted, and the noise of the chant increased, till the performers seem 
to become furious, and the whole dance appears but the orgies of 
a band of internals. The scene grows more and more wild, the 
whirling more rapid, and the bellowing, gurgling cries, more 
vociferous. At this point, some are foaming with enthusiasm, 
others fall in swoons, and others continue to cry, “Yahu,” “ Ja 
meded,” while the anthem continues, “ Oh Mediator ! Oh Beloved! 
Oh Physician of Souls! Oh Thou who wert chosen ! Oh Advocate 
of the Day of Judgment, when men will exclaim, Oh my soul! 
0!i my soul! and when Thou wilt say, Oh my people! my 
people! ” 

Notwithstanding all this apparent ccstacv, it is well known that 
the whole proceeding is a hoax, designed to impose on the spec¬ 
tators and extort alms from them. The priests who perform in 
these orgies, arc known to be a set of lazy, lying hypocrites, who 
use religion only as a means of getting a living without useful 
labor. 

The cemeteries of Skutari arc the chief depositories of the dead 
of Constantinople, and are alike extensive and interesting. r l hey 
are laid out with long lines of cypress trees, which cast a dark 
but appropriate shade over the scene. And besides, the soil of 
this place is considered the consecrated ground of Asia, whence 
the founder of the Ottoman empire sprung, and, spreading his 
























442 


SKUTARI. 


doctrine with the sword, marched onwards to Europe. Hence 
the richer and more distinguished inhabitants of Constantinople 
are buried here, and here are the most costly and beautiful monu¬ 
ments. One tomb, in the midst, always attracts the attention of 
the stranger: it consists of a canopy resting on six columns, and 
marks the resting-place of Sultan Mahmoud’s favorite horse! 

Such are the immense numbers that have been entombed here 
since the founding of Constantinople, that they probably amount 
to twenty times the present population of the whole Turkish 
Empire ; perhaps they equal the present population of the whole 
of Europe. No other spot on the globe can rival this Golgotha, 
in its gloomy triumphs of death and decay ! 


















the muraena. 

f CHAPTER upon eels, common eels, unpromising as the 
? su ^J cc 't lu iglit seem, would be worthy an insertion in this 
^ y Avoik, provided we had space ; for it has points of curious 
interest. To say nothing of the astute and learned distinction 
between broad nosed eels and sharp nosed eels ; to leave untouched 
the distinctions between the grig and the snig; to skip over the 
unjust prejudice of the vulgar against eels, because they so much 
resemble in form the great Tempter in the Garden ; to eschew the 
agitating question whether eels are viviparous or oviparous; to 
leave untold the A\holo story of their strange migrations: we 
might still find abundant materials in the habits and history of 
these creatures, for amusing and profitable dilatation. 

For instance: Yarrell, in his “British Fishes,” tells us that 
<4 the London market is principally supplied with eels from 
Holland, by Dutch fishermen ; their vessels are built with a capa¬ 
cious well, in which large quantities of eels arc preserved till 
a\ anted. One or more of these vessels may bo constantly seen 
Eing Billingsgate. 1 he others go to Holland for fresh supplies, 
each biinging a cargo of fifteen to twenty thousand pounds weight 
of live eels ! ” 

Ellis, in his “ Polynesian Researches,” says : “ In Otaheite, eels 
aie gieat favorites, and are tamed and fed till tliev attain an 

[ 443 ] 
























444 


THE MURAENA. 


enormous size. These pets are kept in large holes in the ground, 
two or three feet deep, partially tilled with water. On the sides 
of these pits they generally remain, except when called by the 
keeper to be fed. I have been several times with the young chief, 
who has sat down by the side of the hole, and by giving a sort of 
shrill whistle, has brought forth an enormous eel, which has moved 
upon the surface of the water, and eaten with confidence out of its 
master’s hand! ” 

I remember, in my early days, to have heard of a man by the 
name of Follet, who had a long aqueduct of bored logs. This 
became stopped up, and suspecting that it was caused by mud, lie 
caught an eel which fitted the hole, and put it in. The creature, 
as it seems, went forward, and not being able to turn round, kept 
ffoinu; ahead, until at the end of two days he came out at the other 
end, and thus restored the aqueduct to its original vigor. This is 
a good illustration of the energy which usually attaches to a 
career in which it is impossible for the actor to change his 
course. 

Going back to the earlier history of these animals, we are told, 
by grave authority, that Aristotle believed young eels to spring 
from mud; Pliny held that they were produced from fragments 
rubbed off from the bodies of their parents by the rocks ; Helmont 
insisted that they might be obtained from May dew, and gave the 
following recipe for the operation: “Cut up two turfs covered with 
May dew, and lay one upon the other, the grassy sides inwards, 
and thus expose them to the sun ; in a few hours there will spring 
from them an infinite number of little eels.’’ Horse hair, from the 
tail of a stallion, when deposited in water, was formerly believed 
to be a never-failing source of a supply of young eels. 

But leaving all these and other curious tales of the vulgar eel, 
and even skipping over that great favorite of the sea-otter, the 
conger, I now come to the Muraena, which is, in fact, a kind of 
huge conger, living and dwelling in the Mediterranean. Let no 
man speak of seeing eels, till he has seen this. Listen to the 
following description : “ length, five to ten feet: weight, often 























THE MtJRAENA. 


445 


one hundred pounds ; jaws equal; gape moderately Igrge ; teeth 
long, incurved, sharp, separate, in one row, and a row in the 
palate ; tongue adherent; a nasal barb on each side of the snout, 
and another over each eye ; large mucous orifices encircling both 
jaws ; eye small but lively ; cheeks tumid ; the skin of a lively 
yellow, and beautifully mottled with dots and rings of darker 
shades.” 

To this formidable description we may add, that the muraena 
has been a favorite for the table, around the Mediterranean, even 
from the time of the Ancient Romans. They were kept in fish 
reservoirs, called vivaria, and which, it appears, were subjects of 
Great care and interest with the more wealthy and luxurious 
citizens of Rome. Every great man, in those days, must have his 
fish reservoir, as much as his poultry-yard or his larder. On the 
celebration of one of his triumphs, Cesar feasted his friends upon 
no less than six thousand of these fishes. It was something, in 
those days, to be Cesar’s friend, for the muraena has white, 
delicate flesh, and is of a delicious flavor. 


































I 





THE DORMOUSE. 

)HIS pretty little animal, seeming to be half mouse and 
half squirrel, is common in most parts of Europe, living 
in dense thickets and bushy dells. There it constructs its 
easy dormitory, providently laying up its store of acorns, beech 
mast, corn, young hazel nuts, and the like. It is nocturnal in its 
habits, and being of a shy disposition, is seldom seen even in 
countries where it exists in considerable numbers. It takes its 
food holding it in its hands and sitting on its haunches, like a 
squirrel ; it often suspends itself by its hind feet, in which posi¬ 
tion it feeds as easily and comfortably as in the more ordinary 
one. Towards the winter, it becomes exceedingly fat; and hav¬ 
ing laid up a store of food, retires to its little nest, and coiling 
itself into a ball, with the tail over the head and back, becomes 
perfectly torpid. A mild day calls it into transient life ; it then 
[ 446 ] 




























THE DORMOUSE. 


447 


takes a fresh supply of food, and relapses into its former slumber. 
Finally awakening in the spring, at which time it has lost much 
ot its fat, it enters upon its usual habits, and the enjoyment of the 
conjugal and paternal affections. The young, which are generally 
about four in number, are born blind ; but in a few days the eyes 
are opened, and in a short time they are enabled to seek their 
food independently of the parent’s care. 

We are told by a writer on this subject, that one of them having 
been taken in its nest in the middle of December, was in a dor¬ 
mant state, but the heat of its captor’s hand, and the warmth of 
the room, completely revived it. It then ran about the room 
nimbly, scaling the furniture, and finding no difficulty in ascending 
and descending the polished backs of the chairs, and leaping from 
chair to chair with great agility. On being set at liberty, it 
sprang at least two yards to a table. It did not seem alarmed at 
being taken into the hand. In the evening, it was placed with its 
nest in a box, and the next morning had relapsed into torpidity. 

We have an account of another dormouse which had been sent 
a distance of one hundred and forty miles, apparently but little 
disturbed by its ride. Tt slept many months in its snug dormitory, 
which was a box lined with wool; and when it awoke, it ate 
readily of nuts and apples. It Avas easily alarmed, being more 
timid than tame ; but showed no signs of anger on being taken in 
the hand. As it slept the greater part of the day, its habits could 
not easily be observed ; but towards evening it woke up, and was 
very lively and frolicsome, running, on being let, out of its cage, 
up the bell-rope, Avliere it would sit for hours in the folds of the 
knot, timidly watching the movements of those around. 

























MAY DAY IN NEW ENGLAND. 


MAY DAY. 

UR old Saxon ancestors, amid their wild and savage man¬ 
ners, appear to have cherished some pleasing and gentle 
customs ; to the days of the week they gave the names of 
their gods: Wednesday from Woden, Thursday from Thor, 
Friday from Friga, <fcc. The seasons also attracted their notice, 
and were honored with appropriate celebrations. 

The English descendants of these fine old sea-rovers and land 

robbers, participated in this taste for marking days and seasons : 
[ 448 ] 




















MAY DAY IN LOUISIANA. 


but they softened the ceremonies which they derived from their an¬ 
cestors, generally giving them a cheerful and frequently a convivial 
character. It appears that the customs of Rome, which were often 
of a tasteful and poetic character, had their influence in many re¬ 
spects, upon the British people. Thus, no doubt, the manner in 
which May day has been celebrated in England, for so many cen¬ 
turies, is copied in part from the Roman celebration of the festival 
of Flora, which took place in the latter days of April and first of 
29 [ 449 ] 
























450 


MAY D A Y . 


May. This goddess was a very ancient deity of Italy, and was wor¬ 
shiped there long before the Romans. Throughout the world, in 
fact, from the earliest times, some festival, generally connected with 
religion, was adopted in the spring, to express the joy inspired by 
the returning season of flowers. We see the vestiges of this 
pleasing custom still visible in most countries of Europe. 

In England, as well as elsewhere, it has somewhat faded away ; 
but, in former times, May day was celebrated there with the 
heartiness of old Saxon manners, blent witli the elegance of Italian 
taste and sentiment. Three or four centuries ago, this festival 
was looked forward to by all ranks, classes, and ages, as specially 
devoted to genial sport and merriment. Chaucer, in his “ Court 
of Love,” says, that early on the first of May, “ fourth goth al the 
Court, both most and lest, to fetclic the flouris freslie and branche 
and bionic.” Henry YIII and his queen are described as going 
on May day, to Shooter’s Hill, where they were met by a party, 
consisting of two hundred of the king’s guard, representing Robin 
Hood and his archers bold, who after discharging their arrows 
to show their skill, invited the royal party to see their mode of 
life. Accordingly, amid the winding of horns, the king and 
queen and suite accompanied them unto the road, under the hill, 
where an arbor of green boughs received them, the ground being 
covered with flowers and sweet herbs. Here they all partook of 
wine and venison, such as the old ballads tell us the outlaws 
contrived to have in plenteous store. On the return of the party, 
they were met by Lady May and Lady Flora, both richly ap¬ 
pareled, and in a gorgeous chariot drawn by five horses, each 
ridden by a beautiful dame. 

These good old hearty customs have fallen into disuse in 
our degenerate days ; no longer do kings and queens and nobles 
and ladyes faire, go forth upon the first of May, “ to fetche 
flouris freslie and branche and blomc;” still, the villagers of 
England, young and old, gather to the lawn and crown their May 
Queen, as told in the touching ballad of Tennyson, entitled 
















MAY DAY. 451 

“ £be $$lag Queen.” 

“\ou must wake and call me early—-call me early, mother dear; 
10-morrow’11 he the happiest time of all the glad new year: 

Ot all the glad new year, mother, the maddest, merriest day: 
h or I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother-—I’m to be Queen o’ 
the May! 

u Little Effie shall go with me to-morrow to the green, 

And you’ll be there, too, mother, to see me made the queen; 
For the shepherd lads on every side, will come from far away, 
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother—I’m to be Queen o’ 
the May. 

“The honey-suckle round the porch has woven its wavy bowers, 
And by the meadow-trenches blow the faint, sweet, cuckoo-flowers; 
And the wild marsh-marygold shines like fire in swamps and hol¬ 
lows gray; 

And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother—I’m to be Queen o’ 
the May. 

“ The night winds come and go, mother, upon the meadow grass, 
And the happy stars above them seem to brighten as they pass; 
There M ill not be a drop of rain the whole of the live-long day! 
And I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother — I’m to be Queen o’ 
the May. 

“All the valley, mother, will be fresh and green, and still, 

And the cowslip and the crowfoot are over all the hill, 

And the rivulet in the flowery dale will merrily glance and play; 
For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother—I’m to be Queen o’ 
the May. 

“So you must wake and call mo early-—call me early, mother 
dear! 

To-morrow ’ll be the happiest time of all the glad new year ; 
To-morrow ’ll be of all the year, the maddest, merriest day, 

For I’m to be Queen o’ the May, mother—I’m to be Queen o’ 
the May! 












452 MAY DAY. 

Iii this country, I am sorry to say, that we have no general, 
national celebration of May day. This is partly owing to our 
somewhat cold and calculating manners; we of the North think 
it won’t pay, and they of the South are too easy and languid to 
find a relish in it. And beside, nature itself is somewhat against 
us. In New England, May dav morn, comes with a chill breath, 
perhaps tinged with frost; scarce a flower has yet dared to peep 
forth, save here and there a sly daisy or an adventurous dande¬ 
lion. Occasionally, a hopeful group of girls and boys, imbued 
with Thomson’s Seasons, and not mindful of the seasons as given 
in the truth-telling “Farmers’ Almanac,” sally forth early on 
the first of May, and shivering as they go, hunt for blossoms 
over hill and dale, yet generally with a most lame and impo¬ 
tent conclusion. 

In the more southern portions of our country, in Louisiana and 
Texas, the climate is semi-tropical, and on May day, the season of 
bud and bloom is past. Where the frogs sing in February and 
the robins hatch in March, roses, and azalias, and rhododendrons, 
have begun to fade in May. At this period, the whole air is 
faint with perfume ; and the heart grown fat and lazy with peas, 
tomatoes and melons, is much more inclined to indulge itself with 
Morpheus than to go forth at sunrise to the worship of Flora. 
May day at the two extremities of our country, is out of date ; too 
early at one end, and too late at the other. What, then, is to be 
done ? for after all we ought to have a May day. Thanksgiving 
and the Fourth of July are good things ; but they are not enough 
for this great country. Can nothing be done? Can enterpris¬ 
ing, adventurous, inventive Young America, do nothing? We can¬ 
not alter the laws of nature, and thus change the seasons, but we 
have telegraphs, steamers, locomotives, and may overcome dis¬ 
tance. Why not, then, choose a central point of this flowery king¬ 
dom that God has given us—say Richmond, in Virginia, the 
Paradise of this country—and there hold a holiday, to which on 
the first of May, the North, the South, and the Center, may 
wreathe themselves in flowers ; and, in happy national fraternity, 










MAY DAY. 453 

choose a May Queen, and dance and sing, and rejoice, in the spirit 
of our ancestors! 

d hint of this, Y oung America; and if you adopt the suggestion 
ieai not that we of the North, and they of the South, will fail to 
be there upon the great occasion ? , 















THE MARMOSET. 

y r '~A HIS little fellow, though a monkey, has really some pre- 
n M ^ ens ^ ons beauty. Its body is only eight inches long, 

and though its tail is eleven inches, it is not larger than 
our common gray squirrel. Its color is olive gray, becoming 
almost black on the head and shoulders. The face is nearly 
a flesh color. It is a native of Guiana and Brazil, where it 
feeds on fruits, seeds, roots, insects, and small birds. The ban¬ 
ana is its favorite food. In captivity, it eats biscuit, greens, 
fruit and insects. It will steal gold fish from a fountain, and 
easily makes acquaintance with eels, which it devours with a rel¬ 
ish. It is a delicate little creature, and if taken to a northern 
climate, seems to be in an almost constant shiver. In such a case, 
it finds great comfort in its long furry tail, which it winds around 
its body. 

Some curious anecdotes are told of this creature. F. Cuvier 
[ 454 ] 
















THE MARMOSET. 


455 


had one which produced three young ones at a birth. Seeming 
to think this too many, she immediately ate off the head of 
one ot them! Lady Rolle had a marmoset, which every day 
was put on the table at dessert, where it sat and took its share 
of cake! 





















THE OTTER. 

HIS animal lias a character altogether too marked to be 
omitted in our gallery of notabilities. There -are several 
species, but the common otter is the subject of our sketch. 
Its proper food is fish, and nothing in nature shows more beautiful 
adaptation of means to ends, than its structure, in view of its 
intended mode of life. Its legs are short and fin-like; its feet 
oary, and its tail serves as a rudder. Its fur, short, thick and 
fine, keeps its body at a proper temperature. It is easy and 
elegant in its movements, entering the water with the silence of a 
shadow and sporting about in its depths with the velocity of an 
arrow. 

It is a voracious animal, and when fish is scarce, sometimes 
quits its haunts along the ponds and rivers, and visits the barn- 
1456] 


% 



































THE OTTER. 457 

yard, making sucking-pigs, lambs and poultry its prey. Though 
more common in fresh water, it often lives along the sea shore. 
It is capable of domestication and attachment, and it has been 
suggested that it might be advantageously trained to catch fish. 
Goldsmith tells us of one, which, at the word of command, entered 
a gentleman s pond, drove the fish into a corner, and having seized 
the largest, brought it out to his master. One belonging to a 
Scotch widow, visited the neighboring streams, and having caught 
a fish, carried it home to his mistress. 

These creatures are very playful, and in their wild state amuse 
themselves by sliding down the slippery banks of their ponds, 
seeming greatly to enjoy the sport. Mr. Monteith, in Scotland 
owned one, which behaved very well in general, but lie often 
stole away of a moonlight night, where he frolicked with his fel¬ 
lows, or had a turn at fishing in the river. In the morning, like 
other young hypocrites, who are out late o’ nights, he was in his 
kennel, wearing a very sober face, and saying nothing of his 
pranks. Another, kept by an English lady, grew very fond of his 
mistress, fondled her feet, and even went so far occasionally as to 
salute her cheek ! 














KAMTSCHATKA. 

t T the north-eastern extremity of Asia, is a peninsula, bear¬ 
ing the above name, some eight hundred miles in length, 
and which may be considered as one of the most curious 
portions of the earth’s surface. The coast is generally abrupt 
and rocky ; and, when seen from the sea, presents an appearance 
inexpressibly bleak, barren and desolate. A few plains are found 
in the interior, but two thirds of the surface are occupied by a 
volcanic range of mountains, some of which are eleven thousand 
feet in height, and several of which are in a state of constant 
activity. Around these perpetual fires is an everlasting bed of 
snow and ice, thus presenting the striking spectacle of immense 
cauldrons of bubbling lava in the bosom of an almost Arctic zone. 
While such is the interior, the shores are lashed by storms and 
tempests, such as scarcely visit any other portion of the globe. 

Despite these gloomy attributes, this region is not unfruitful. 
Animal life seems here specially to abound : bears, foxes, lynxes, 
otters, reindeer, sables, and other quadrupeds, furnish an ample 
field to the sportsman and the fur-hunter. Fish of many kinds, sal¬ 
mon, cod, herrings, teem in the rivers ; seals, walruses and whales, 
[ 458 ] 


















KAMTSCHATKA. 459 

along the shore, furnish abundance of oil. The eggs and flesh of 
countless waterfowl contribute to feast the inhabitants. In the 
valleys, the soil is not unkind, as it yields corn, hemp, potatoes, and 
cabbage, upon slight cultivation, and but for the natural supply 
of wild berries and wild plants, and the still more ample store of 
game, might become the support of the people. 

In this remote and half unknown or forgotten land, there is a 
race of men as peculiar as their country. They are short, stout, 
and swarthy, with big heads, flat, broad faces, prominent cheek¬ 
bones, thin lips, lank black hair, and eyes deep sunk in the head. 
T hey are honest, frank and hospitable. Their chief employments 
are hunting and fishing, agriculture being held in little respect. 
Their abodes are miserable filthy huts, sunk deep in the ground 
during winter, to ward off the intense cold, and raised on poles 
during the summer to facilitate the curing of fish, which are hun°* 
up on lines to dry. In traveling, they use dogs, of which they 
have an intelligent and hardy breed, instead of horses ; four, six 
or eight of these animals being hitched to a sledge, in which the 
rider sits sideways, and which they drag cheerily over the snow. 
They are constantly stimulated by the driver throwing at them a 
stick, which he skillfully catches as the sleds-e'advances. Doo-s 
are an essential part of the property of these people, every man 
having as many as four, and some as many as twenty 















THE BLUE JAY. 


« HIS elegant bird, so happily and humorously described by 
Wilson, is peculiar to North America. It is distinguished 
as a kind of beau among the feathered tenants of our 
woods, by the brilliancy of his dress, and like most other coxcombs, 
[ 460 ] 
















THE BLUE JAY. 461 

lie makes himself still more conspicuous by his loquacity and the 
conceit and emphasis of his tones and gestures. He is an almost 
universal inhabitant of the woods, frequenting the thickest settle¬ 
ments, as well as the deepest recesses of the forest, where his 
squalling voice often alarms the deer, to the disappointment of the 
hunter, one of whom told me that in revenge for the impertinence 
of the race he made it a point to kill every jav he could meet with. 

In the charming season of spring, when every thicket pours 
forth harmony, the part performed by the jay always catches the 
ear. He appears to be among his fellow-musicians, what the 
trumpeter is in a band, some of his notes bearing no distant 
resemblance to the tones of that instrument. These ho has the 
faculty of changing through a great variety of modulations. 
When disposed for ridicule, there is scarcely a bird whose pecu¬ 
liarities of song he cannot time his notes to. When engaged in 
the blandishments of love, they resemble the soft chatterings of a 
duck, and can scarcely be heard at a few paces distant; but no 
sooner does he discover your approach, than he sets up a sudden 
and vehement outcry, flying olf and screaming with all his might. 
A stranger might easily mistake his notes for the repeated creak- 
ings of an ungreased wheel-barrow. All these he accompanies 
with various nods, jerks, and other mean and vulgar gesticulations 
for which the whole tribe of jays are so remarkable. 

The blue jay builds a large nest on a cedar or apple tree. His 
favorite food is chestnuts, acorns and Indian corn. He sometimes 
feeds on bugs and caterpillars, and often plunders orchards, cherry 
rows and potato patches. He spreads alarm and sorrow around 
him, by robbing the nests of other birds, sucking the eggs, and 
frequently devouring the young. In times of great extremity, he 
will swallow any animal substance that comes in his way. 

Of all birds, he is the most bitter enemy to the owl. No sooner 
has he discovered one of these, than he summons the whole of his 
noisy and impudent fraternity to his assistance, who surround the 
glimmering and goggling bird, and attack him from all sides, 
raising such a shout as may be heard half a mile off; the owl, 












462 THE BLUE JAY. 

meanwhile, returning all these left-handed compliments with a 
broad, wondering stare. The war becomes louder and louder, 
and the owl, at length, forced to betake himself to flight, is fol¬ 
lowed by the whole train of his impish persecutors until driven 
beyond their jurisdiction. 

The blue jay is not only bold and vociferous, but possesses con¬ 
siderable talent for mimicry, and seems to enjoy great satisfaction 
in mocking and teasing other birds, particularly the sparrow-hawk, 
imitating his cry whenever he secs him, and squealing out as if 
caught in his claws. This soon brings a number of the jay tribe 
around him, who all join in the frolic, darting about the hawk, 
and feigning the cries of a bird sorely wounded ; but this ludicrous 
farce often ends tragically. The hawk, sinrrlino: out one of the 
most insolent and provoking of his tormentors, sweeps upon him 
in an unguarded moment, and offers him up a sacrifice to his 
hunger and resentment. In an instant the tune is changed ; all 
the buffoonery of the jays vanishes, and loud and incessant screams 
proclaim their disaster. 

The blue jay has some reputation for the talents which distinguish 
his cousin, the magpie. One that was brought up in the family of 
a gentleman in South Carolina had all the tricks and loquacity of 
a parrot, pilfered everything he could conveniently carry off, and 
hid them in holes and crevices. He answered to his name, replied 
with great sociability when called on, could articulate a number 
of words very distinctly ; and when he heard any uncommon noise 
or loud talking, seemed impatient to contribute to the general 
festivity, by a display of all the oratorical powers he was pos¬ 
sessed of. Many other tales are told in testimony of the talents 
of this gifted bird. 













AUSTRALIA. 

t EW HOLLAND and a few neighboring islands, bearing 
the name of Austral Asia, abridged into Australia, to use 
a somewhat Irish phrase, is regarded by geographers as a 
fifth quarter of the globe. In whatever aspect we view it, it is 
a land of anomalies. We have heard it often said, somewhat 
irreverently perhaps, of a patch of ground peculiarly rough and 
irredeemable, that it was made late on Saturday afternoon : as to 
New Holland, the geologists'have come to the conclusion that it 
was formed subsequent to all the other divisions of the earth. 

It is to be observed, also, that the models which nature has 
loved to repeat and follow, in the vegetable as well as the animal 
kingdom, are here to a great extent slightly noticed, while new, 
and strange, and sometimes grotesque devices and combinations 
are resorted to. Even the geographical features, mountains, 

[ 463 ] 

























464 AUSTRALIA. 

rivers, and plains, are here distributed on principles little 
analogous to those which mark other continents. The soil varies 
according to laws unknown in other lands. If the country has 
the same minerals as others, these, as in the case of gold, coal, 
and iron, arc lavished with an abundance which amounts to 
eccentricity. 

In its botany, New Holland is distinguished by remarkable 
characteristics. While it has about six thousand species of plants 
common to other parts of the world, it has at least as many 
peculiar to itself. Even plants of a common order, here assume 
proportions altogether anomalous; nettles, ferns, and even grasses 
having, in some cases, the bulk and the habits of trees. With a 
single exception, all the trees arc evergreen; and, strange to tell, 
many of them are noted for the inverted position of the leaf, the 
margin, and not either surface, being directed toward the stem. 
Lilies, tulips, and honeysuckles, exist in the form of standard 
trees ; odoriferous plants load the air with perfume; and prickly 
plants cover and bind down the sandy soil of the barrens, so that 
the winds cannot raise it as is the case in other deserts. Flax, 
tobacco, a species of cotton, indigo, chicory, and some other 
common plants, are indigenous ; but the country is by nature 
wholly destitute of the important and multitudinous family of 
cerealia. The native fruits arc few and poor, being confined to 
raspberries, a species of currants, and a few nuts. 

The animal kingdom is marked with still more remarkable 
singularities. Many animals distributed over the other continents, 
are unknown to this region ; while, in other cases, several distinct 
kinds are frequently blended in one. Such animals as the bear, 
lion, tiger, cat, deer, fox, wolf, beaver, marmot, weasel, &c., 
spread over the rest of the world, are unknown here ; while we 
discover the hydromys, which has the peculiarities of the dor¬ 
mouse, rat, and beaver; and the ornithorynchus, which has the 
habits of the mole, the feet and bill of a duck, and the internal 
formation of a reptile. More than three fourths of the quadrupeds 
are pouched; the great kangaroo, of the size of a calf, standing 










AUSTRALIA. 


4G5 


at the head, and being, in fact, the largest indigenous animal of the 
continent. Some of the animals are noted for their ugliness ; one 
of them, the dasyurus ursinus, a species of opossum, being called 
the devil, by the colonists. To this we may add two species, the 
echidni and the platypus, which, although quadrupeds, have no 
teats and do not suckle their young. 

The ornithology is almost as eccentric. The tribes of singing 
birds known in other countries, are wanting here. Instead of 
these, we find a singing pheasant; and a thrush, which, in con¬ 
sideration of its voice, is sometimes called the thunder-bird, or, 
more frequently, the laughing jackass. An odd compound of 
music this must be, as it is not easy to reconcile the wailing bray 
of an ass, with the idea of music which produces laughter. To 
these oddities, we may add the white eagle, the coal-black swan, 
the matchless birds of paradise, the ostrich-like emu, with num¬ 
berless troops of cockatoos, parrots and parroquets, bustards and 
boobies, swallows and goatsuckers, but all so strange, so peculiar, 
as hardly to indicate the order to which they belong. 

The man of New Holland is no less singular. Ilis skin is of a 
chocolate color ; the hair black, wooly, and growing in small 
tufts, with a spiral twist; the beard is black, thick, and bushy ; 
the frame puny and weak. He seems a negro, and is yet not-a 
negro. He is without arts, has no idea of agriculture, and goes 
completely naked. Thus he stands decidedly lowest in the scale 
of human nature, physical, intellectual, and moral. 

As we have already intimated, the geology of Australia indr 
cates that this part of the earth was' made later in the week of 
creation than the other parts of the world. A high authority 
tells us that, judging from the remarkable fossil osteology of 
this region, it may be inferred that “ though not post diluvian, 
Australia is geologically much more modern than other portions 
of the globe.” It would not appear, however, from the animal 
and vegetable kingdom, and from the natives of this last made 
continent, that nature is always progressive in its creative powers. 
Burns sings: 

30 
























466 AUSTRALIA. 

“Old Nature swears, the lovely dears 
Her noblest work she classes O; 

Her ’prentice han’ she tried on man, 

And then she made the lasses O! ” 

If wc may believe, as believe we must, that other continents with 
their white races of men, and their diversified zoology and botany, 
were made first, and New Holland, with its pouched kangaroos, 
and breechesless, brainless bushmen, were made last, we think the 
process pointed out by the poet, from good to better and best, is 
not the universal law of nature. 




















ANIMALS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA. 

days of Nimrod, the mighty hunter, have returned. 
Mr. Cummings, a Scotchman, went to Southern Africa, a 
few years since, where he spent some months in shooting 
elephants, rhinoceroses, hippopotami, and the like. A Frenchman 
by the name of Gerard, has occupied himself in Northern Africa 
for even a longer period, in similar sports, though his chief amuse¬ 
ment was in hunting the lion. 

The pictures of animal life which these adventurers present, are 

[ 467 ] 










* 














































indeed amazing. Droves of elephants are seen amid the trees, 
troops of hippopotami wallow in the lake’s, giraffes are browsing 
in the copses, and illimitable plains are streaming with deer, ante¬ 
lopes of various kinds, quaggas, and ostriches. And amid all 
these, crouching in thickets, or lurking in caves, are numerous 
lions, sallying forth at night to mingle their voices with the thun¬ 
der, and to feast by the flash of the lightning. 

And in scenes like this prowled our sportsmen, now knocking 
down an elephant, now a rhinoceros, now a lion, and now a 
springbok, and all in sport! Could Nimrod have had better 
game or better luck ? 


468 ANIMALS OF SOUTHERN AFRICA. 



























THE THORNBACK. 



)E have a few words to say of the Ray family, a pretty 
numerous tribe of flat fishes—flat and white on the belly, 
and somewhat raised on the back, and generally of a 
dark color. The eyes are on the back, yet so situated as to look 
all around ; the tail is generally long and slender, and sometimes, 
though not always, furnished with a fin at the extremity. These 
fishes live on the bottom of the sea, and devour their neighbor 
flat fish in great quantities, for they are a voracious tribe. 

These are the general characteristics, but there are still great 

* 

diversities, indicated by the names of the leading families ; as 
horned rays, eagle rays, whip rays, sting rays, skates, long-nosed 
skates, sharp-nosed skates, flapper skates, the tinkers, the painted 
rays, the spotted rays, the shagreen rays, the thornback or rough 
rays, the starry rays, the torpedoes, the beaked rays, the sun fishes, 

[ 469 ] 












470 THE THOP.NBACK. 

and many others. As food, some of them are good and some 
had ; they vary in size from three to eight hundred pounds. 

As to the thornback, of which we give a portrait, it is one of the 
most reputable of the order, as it is excellent eating, and allows 
itself to be caught in great numbers, takes salt well, and feeds 
the poor extensively. There are only two tilings against it, and 
these are perhaps capable of explanation or mitigation. In the 
first place, the female is called the maid , which seems, if there be 
any meaning in it, to be a fling, either at the sex in general, or 
the thornback females in particular. The ready answer to this is, 
that all flings are worthy of nothing but contempt. The other 
point is, that the thornback is stuck over, in a remarkable man¬ 
ner, with knobs and bunches, armed with sharp spears or prickles, 
and as yet no use has been found for them. These are not, how¬ 
ever, of a formidable character, not being used for any dangerous 
purposes, and in point of fact, only giving the fish a sort of re¬ 
spectability among the fishermen, inasmuch as roughness is apt 
to be considered by simple people a sign of cleverness, especially 
in cases where all other signs of such virtue are wanting. 

The character of the thornback will appear to greater advan¬ 
tage if we compare him with his cousin, the sting ray, of which 
we give a picture. This fellow, as will be seen, has a long, fin- 
less tail, but armed with a barbed spike in the upper side of it. 
The animal understands perfectly well this curious gift of nature, 
and uses it with effect. When it meets a fish which it wishes to 
capture, or is beset by an enemy, it winds its tail around its object 
of attack, and with a jerk plunges its spear into it. Fishermen 
who have dealings with this fellow, are very wary of lus tricks, 
for in addition to the wound given by it, this spear operates as a 
poison on some constitutions, and hence death has ensued from its 
lacerations. 

But even the sting ray is amiable in comparison with the tor¬ 
pedo. This is a common fish in Europe, where it goes under the 
various names of cramp fish, numb fish, electric ray, cramp ray, 
Ac. This creature, of which there are two or three species, 










THE THORNBACK. 47 J 



THE STING E AT. 

gives a shock on being touched, more or less intense, like that of 
an electric battery. The most energetic discharge is obtained by 
touching the back and belly simultaneously. 

These fishes use this power to obtain their food, for on touching 
another fish they paralyse it. But their size is small, and their bat¬ 
tery comparatively weak. On the South American coast is the 
gymnotus, which has the same electric organization, and being 
twenty feet long, it will paralyze a horse, deprive a man of sense 
and motion, and even kill animals of considerable size! 

What strange, what astonishing marvels, does the study of 
nature unfold ! 

















LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 


OTHING lias been more debated than the relative advan¬ 
tages of city and country life. The city is the focus of 
activity, excitement, wealth and splendor; it is the arena 
of strife for mastery in the pugilism of trade and politics ; the 

[ 472 ] 














LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 473 

race-course of ambition ; the battle-ground of fierce passions and 
unscrupulous selfishness. Here are gathered the museums of art, 
the treasures of literature, the allurements of fashion, the volup¬ 
tuous excitements of the opera, the theater, and the concert-room. 
Here are gathered together the master spirits of the forum, the 
pulpit, and the senate chamber. The very air is tremulous with 
stimulants; the heart palpitates in a medium thrilling with the 
contagious enthusiasm of congregated thousands. 

And this seems a large and generous life. No man stands alone ; 
lie sympathizes with the great movement around him. He cannot 
resist the pressure of a current so seductive, so pervading, so 
potent. His mind rises to the altitude of the edifices, ascending 
in seven stories as did the Tower of Babylon, among which he 
takes his daily walks. He holds communion with ships, and 
breaths of the sea^ which stretch his thoughts over the cir¬ 
cumference of the globe ; he is at the terminus of railroads, which 
bring to him the travel of the four winds ; his car is at the end of 
the telegraph, and he hears the lightning whispers of a continent, 
lie is woven in by a thousand threads with society, and feels 
every shake of its spreading, spidery web, whether suggestive of 
pleasure or of fear. He is on a tide which bears nothing but 
life, action, progress — for the dying and the dead sink unnoticed 
like bubbles, and others rise and take their place upon the surface, 
so that his heart is constantly charmed with the idea that he and 
his interests arc immortal. When he gathers himself to his home, 
and evening falls around, it is not night, for the lamps shine in the 
street and the busy hum of wheels tells of balls, concerts, theaters ; 
of life, and joy, and pleasure. In his own house he has a foun¬ 
tain of light, which a match ignites and sets darkness and its mon¬ 
itory gloom at defiance. What are the grisly specters of the dark 
hour, that come to rouse the conscience, and whisper of the time 
when we must take our walk into the valley of the shadow of 
death, to him? And then, how luxuriously his foot falls on the 
sumptuous carpets! How complacently does he survey his mir¬ 
rors, like smooth lakes, multiplying the beautiful objects around! 













474 LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 

With what gratification does he gaze on the pictures, and statues, 
and bronzes, that he has gathered around him. What a sense of 
pleasure and refinement, mingled with triumph, steals into his 
heart in the midst of such a scene. How natural is it for him to say, 
“ Soul, thou art rich and increased in goods ; take thine ease, for 
thou art immortal. Thou hast Avealth, which is as a wall encom¬ 
passing a city, and setting fear and danger at defiance. Take 
thine ease; eat, drink, and sleep in conscious security.” 

This is life in the city, as it is generally conceived—the great 
life of the great man. And such are a part of its elements ; no 
doubt, all this may be and occasionally is realized, in a greater 
or less degree. This is what the ambitious seek, and the success¬ 
ful are supposed to attain. But if it be true, it is not the whole 
truth. The heart of the rich man — the man who has made his for¬ 
tune, and glories in his millions, may preach peace to his soul, 
while there is no peace, there. The surface may be smooth and 
calm, while beneath it, all is agitated and troubled. And so in 
fact it usually is, as we shall soon see. 

But for the moment, let us take a more general view. 

It must be remembered that if the city has its splendor, it has 
also its degradation ; for every palace in Fifth Avenue, there are 
a hundred hovels of filth, disease, vice, crime, wretchedness, in the 
Five Points and its contiguous streets. Every man who becomes 
rich, tramples beneath his feet a hundred competitors ; and while 
he stands before the world in triumph, they hide themselves in 
poverty and despair. If one man is learned, thousands are igno¬ 
rant ; if a few are wise, many are foolish ; if some are refined, 
multitudes are coarse and vulgar. He who enters the arena of 
the city, therefore, takes part in a game in which the chances are a 
thousand to one against him. 

But suppose he succeeds. Let us follow him to his house, his 
palace, his fireside, his home. lie seems, indeed, as we have 
already pictured him, to have all around him that heart could 
wish ; but yet, if we look closely, we shall see that lurking care and 
discontent are on his brow. He is, perchance, a Bear, and the horns 










LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 


475 


of some ugly Bull, on ’Change, have gored him ; or, perchance, 
he is a Bull, and a Bear has taken out a piece of his flesh ; or, 
what is still worse, he is a dyspeptic, and his digestion, moral and 
physical, is deranged. Even Madeira that has “ been around the 
Cape,” sours on his stomach. The choicest wines, the most 
luscious viands, distress him. He is fain to go back to the sim¬ 
plicity of his youth ; but alas ! hasty pudding and molasses, so deli¬ 
cious in his boyhood, have lost their flavor. Houses, friends — 
everything has lost its charm, and he must quit them all for Sara¬ 
toga, or Paris, or Italy. 

“ Sated with home, of wife and children tired, 

The restless soul is driven abroad to roam; 

Sated abroad, all seen, yet nought admired, 

The restless soul is driven to ramble home.” 

He comes back and builds a seat in the country. He 
wearies of that, sells out, and returns to the city. He devotes 
himself to heaping up money, for that is his god. Ere long he 
dies, and leaves a million or half a million, to be divided between 
squabbling, imbecile, unworthy heirs. 

This, stripped of all disguise, is the great man of the city, the 
successful man, the envied man ; this is the great life of the 
metropolis. 

Now let us take a turn in the country. The poet has said that 
God made it, and so he did. Let us breathe its atmosphere, and 
consider its ways. Here, as in the city, there is diversity of con¬ 
dition. Here are the rich and the poor; but yet, wealth and 
poverty do not altogether form the character and course of life. 
The rich man in the country is simple, and the poor man does not 
suffer from want. The differences of attire, equipage, food, 
drink, education, arc not ostentatiously displayed ; the different 
classes live side by side, and in good neighborhood. They and 
their families visit together, worship together ; their children go 
to the same schools, partake in the same sports. 

Nevertheless, we repeat, there are the rich and the poor in the 

































476 


LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. 


country. The great mass are farmers, and live by husbandry. 
This is a lot which involves patient toil, careful economy, daily, 
hourly self-denial, even with the thrifty and the prosperous. And 
after all, success seems to bring but a moderate recompense. 

Let us draw the picture of the farmer of the middle class, such 
as the artist has sketched at the head of this article. We regard 
him in the midst of his labors. In the center of the scene are 
his wife and children. Observe them for a moment: the mother 
and the younger child in her arms, the latter trying to catch the 
birds in the tree top ; the eldest, feeding a lamb ; the next, blow¬ 
ing his trumpet, and the next gazing at the puppy as he chases the 
ducks. How full of satisfaction, simple, pure, unalloyed, is every 
face! How just, how generous is the seeming content of the father 
in the background! And the grandfather, calmly, but earnestly 
reading his Bible, while the dog at his side, like a good shepherd, 
keeps his eye on the flock ! Is not that a pleasant scene ? And 
yet it is true to nature ; it is a picture of common country life. 

Let us go a little further with the members of this scene. The 
scope of existence is not confined to the simple spectacle in our 
sketch : there is history beyond it. The grandfather has done, or 
nearly done his work. He has lived his three score and ten. He 
has raised a family ; he has brought them up in the fear of God 
and the love of men. His sons and daughters are fathers and 
mothers ; they are scattered far and wide, and wherever they are, 
they are sowing the seed of knowledge and virtue. He has been 
a man of prayer, and the prayer of the righteous availeth much. 
He has been a good neighbor, a kind friend ; he has been a patriot, 
loving and serving his town, his county, his state, his country. 
No worldly ambition has corrupted his heart or contaminated 
is vote. He has fought the good fight. It is evening — the sunset 
of life — and with firm confidence in God, he is peacefully pre¬ 
paring for his repose. 

Let us turn from the past and survey the future. Let us look 
into the hearts of this father and this mother, the simple farmer 
and his wife. Is theirs a dull or narrow existence? Cer- 

























LIFE IN THE COUNT EY. 


477 


tainly not. There is heaven for them as well as for the inhabit¬ 
ants of the city ; and I suspect in their calm and earnest study 
of it, in the Great Book, it is even more real, ample and glorious 
than to those who seem to possess higher advantages. It is the 
pure in spirit, not the rich in purse, or pride, or person, who shall 
see God. 

And then the mother, the father ; what a world of emotion in 
the future of their children, in their feeding, clothing, training, 
education. How do parental hope, and confidence, and affection 
sustain, and cheer, and ennoble the toil of years, that has for its 
object the happiness of those whom God has given us! 

And then the love and duty of the wife ; the manly, generous, 
earnest devotion of the husband : how do these things sustain, 
and feed, and enlarge the heart ? And beside : these persons are 
members of society, and have opened before them a widening 
circle of duty and gratification. Is this a narrow life? Is it, 
indeed, a hard, barren, repulsive life ? Compare the health, the 
peace, the contentment which it brings, with the unwholesome ex¬ 
citement, the false ambition, the moral and physical dyspepsia of » 
city life, and then, even if you prefer the latter, you cannot des¬ 
pise the former. 


\ 
























IMAGES FROM THE RUINS OF NINEYEII. 


RUINS OF NINEVEH AND BABYLON. 

HE discoveries which have been made within the last 
few years, by investigating the materials which compose 
the surface of the earth, are among the most astonishing in 
the records of human knowledge. The geologists, by examining 
the layers of rock and soil which form the crust of the globe, 
have acquired the art of reading them as others would the leaves 
of a book ; and understanding the marks upon them as a kind of 
writing, they are able to interpret them, and deduce therefrom 
the history of the structure of the globe. The result is indeed 
amazing : by this means we have now a science which gives us the 

[ 478 ] 




























NINEVEH AND BABYLON. 479 

most clear and satisfactory proofs of revolutions which have 
taken place, not only in the rocks, soils, lands, islands, continents 
and seas of the earth, but of entire races of plants and animals 
which lived and died long before the present order of things. 

W liile such has been the result of geological investigation 
equally interesting discoveries have been made by examining the 
mins of ancient cities. The hidden tombs of Egypt have fur¬ 
nished their wondrous revelations, and more recently the vestiges ' 
of Nineveh and Babylon have unfolded their treasures. The re¬ 
searches ot Layard and Botta, upon the site of the former city, 
have already made us acquainted with many things pertaining to 
the history of Assyria, which before were either hidden or obscure, 
and at the same time, they have in a manner waked this ancient 
people from their graves, and made them move before us, thus 
instructing us in their manners and customs, thoughts and feelings, 
as displayed in war, in religion, in public and in private life. 

The explorations among the vestiges of Babylon, which are 
still going on, are not less important. Already have the learned 
men succeeded in reading the inscriptions which, by a strange 
instinct, the ancient Babylonians impressed on the bricks em¬ 
ployed in building their edifices ; and, what is equally important, 
they have translated some of the cuneiform records upon the 
cylinders found in the ruins. From these sources, many gaps in 
history have been supplied, and many facts, before unknown, have 
been revealed. No doubt others of equal interest will soon be 
disclosed. 

Among the curious and interesting discoveries at Babylon, it 
has been ascertained that the celebrated mound of ruins called 
Birs Nimrood, was a temple either built or restored by Nebu. 
chadnezzar. Every brick was stamped with a mould bearing 
his name. The edifice was in seven stories, called the Seven 
Spheres, each dedicated to a particular planet, and of a particular 
color. In the corners of the stories were found cylinders, 
inscribed with writing, of which the following is a translation : 

“I am Nabu-kuduri-uzur, King of Babylon, the established 










480 


NINEVEH AND BABYLON. 


governor, ne who pays homage to Merodach, adorer of the gods, 
glorifier of Nabu, the supreme chief, he who cultivates worship in 
honor of the great gods, the subduer of the disobedient man, 
repairer of the temples of Bit-Shaggeth and Bit-Tzida, the eldest 
son of Nabu-pal-uzar, King of Babylon. 

“ Behold now, Merodach, my great lord, has established men 
of strength, and has urged me to repair his buildings. Nabu, 
the guardian over the heavens and the earth, has committed to 
my hands the scepter of royalty, therefore. Bit-Shaggeth, the 
palace of the heavens alid the earth, for Merodach, the supreme 
chief of the gods, and Bit-Kua, the shrine of his divinity, and 
adorned with shining gold, I have appointed them. Bit-Tzida, 
also, I have firmly built. With silver, and gold, and a facing of 
stone ; with wood of fir, and plane, and pine, I have completed it. 

“ The building named the Planisphere, which was the wonder of 
Babylon, I have made and finished. With bricks enriched with 
lapis-lazuli, I. have exalted its head. Behold now the building 
named the Stages of the Seven Spheres, which was the wonder of 
Borsippa, had been built by a former king. He had completed 
forty-two cubits of height, but he did not finish its head. From 
the lapse of time, it had become ruined ; they had not taken care 
of the exits of the waters, so the rain and wet had penetrated 
into the brick work. The casing of burnt brick had bulged out, 
and the terraces of crude brick lay scattered in heaps ; then 
Merodach, my great lord, inclined my heart to repair the build¬ 
ing. I did not change its site, nor did I destroy its foundation 
platform ; but, in a fortunate month, and upon an auspicious day, 
I undertook the building of the two brick terraces, and the burnt 
brick casing of the temple. I strengthened its foundation, and I 
placed a titular record on the part I had rebuilt. I set my hand 
to build it up, and to exalt its summit. As it had been in ancient 
times, so I built up its structure ; as it had been in former days, 
thus I exalted its head. 

“Nabu, the strengthener of his children, he who ministers to 
the gods, and Merodach, the supporter of sovereignty, may they 





















NINEVEH AND BABYLON. 481 

cause this my work to be established for ever ; may it last through 
the se\ en ages ; and may the stability of my throne and the 
antiquity ot my empire, secure against strangers and triumphant 
over many foes, continue to the end of time. Under the guardian¬ 
ship of the Regent who presides over the spheres of heaven and 
the earth, may the length of my days pass on in due course. I 
invoke Merodach, the king of the heavens and the earth, that 
this my work may be preserved for me, under thy care, in honor 
and respect. May Nabu-kuduri-uzur, the royal architect, remain 
under thy protection.” 

81 

• 















THE ANGEL FISH. 

AMES, no doubt, often are given in a spirit of contradic- 
i tion, and hence this hideous tenant of the sea, whose 
portrait is here given, is called the Angel of the Deep. 
Its character, it must be admitted, corresponds with its looks ; for 
it belongs to the family of the sharks, and though not one of the 
worst of that wolfish race, it is bad enough. It is an aggravating 
circumstance, that it is not fit to cat — a fact which, indeed, by a 
strange system of nature, applies to many other voracious and 
predaceous animals, as hyenas, wolves, tigers, vultures, and the 
like. If we ask what such a fish is made for, we are at a loss to 
answer, unless we adopt the conclusion that its mission is to eat 
up other fishes ; which, in point of fact, is doing little more than 
to give a history of his life and conduct. This, after all, is not 
specially against this creature; for it would be difficult to assign 
any better reason for the creation of many other species. Among 
men, even, there are wolves, and sharks, and angel fish, who 
subsist chiefly by feeding on their own species, and for whose 
existence no better reason can be given than that they devour 
other people. 

The importance of the angel fish, is derived chiefly from his 
[ 482 ] 


















THE ANGEL FISH. 483 

connections, which, although they are not amiable, must be con¬ 
sidered as among the most powerful of fishes, and, therefore, as 
clearly belonging to the aristocracy of the sea. Their characters 
are indicated in their names, as the dog shark, the black-mouthed 
dog shark, the white shark, the fox shark, the blue shark, the 
miller’s dog, the smooth hound, the bone dog, the Greenland 
shark, the hammer-headed shark, &c. These are manifestly the 
dukes, earls, viscounts, marquises, and F. F. V’s of the ocean. 
The title of the angel fish to be ranked among the nobility of the 
deep, is sufficiently vindicated by its relationship to these races, it 
being among fishes as among men, that power, irrespective of 
virtue, bestows rank. 












THE WASHINGTON CEDARS OF CALIFORNIA. 



HESE trees, which 
are the tallest ever 
known, are situated 
about eighty miles east ol 
Stockton, on the hills at the 
foot of the Sierra Nevada 
range, some four thousand feet 
above the level of the sea. 
The forests in this region 
are without undergrowth ; the 
land is smooth, and beautifully 
diversified with rounded hills 
and lawn-like valleys ; and 
these are embellished with 
myriads of exquisite flowers, 
more lovely than any garden 
ever grew. The trees arc 
sometimes of oak, and some¬ 
times of pine, and so imposing 
is their magnitude, that Dr. 
Bitshnell, who visited the 
place in 1850, says that it 
seemed to him like the “Park 
of the Almighty.” 

As you advance toward the 
“ great trees,” the forest grad¬ 
ually grows still more lofty, 
till finally, descending gently 
along a western slope, among the lines of lesser groves, you come 
to the gate of the real giants themselves. Here, between two 


[484] 







































THE WASHINGTON CEDARS. 485 

trees, five hundred feet high, as Dr. Bushnell tells us, is the 
Big Tree Hotel, kept by Mr. Davis. Within a space of about 
fifty acres, the whole group, consisting now of only ninety trees, is 
included : nearly all arc within a circle of ten acres. One has been 
cut down, and the diameter was thirty-one feet, at the ground ! 

The magnitude of these line trees, entirely beyond the growth 
of any others on record, is in itself astonishing; but our curiosity 
is increased when we inquire why it is that they are here, and 
here only. The soil is a rich bottom, but in no other visible 
respect peculiar. Why arc there but ninety of these Anakims 
of the forest? Of the myriad seeds that have been sprinkled, why 
have so few been fruitful ? 

“It will lie very difficult,” says Dr. Bushnell, “for anyone 
not assisted by actual sight, and even who is so assisted, to form a 
conception or receive a just impression of these gigantic growths. 
Even when he is thrilled with the sense of their sublimity, he 
will not take their true measure. We measured an enormous 
sugar pine recently felled, about a mile before we reached the 
place. Sixty feet from the ground it was six feet in diameter, 
and it was two hundred and fifty feet high. It really seemed that 
nothing could be greater. But we applied our measure to one of 
the prostrate giants, whose dimensions, as it lay upon the ground, 
we could better take the sense of, apart from all definite measures; 
and found that, two hundred and fifty feet from the ground, it 
was six feet in diameter. The top was rotted and gone, but it 
could not have been less than three hundred and twenty-five or 
three hundred and fifty feet in height. And yet this tree was 
only eighteen feet in diameter, while the Big Tree was thirty-one, 
as I have stated.” 

Upon counting the grains of one of these trees that had been 
cut down, it was found to be thirteen hundred years old ; so that 
when Gregory was consolidating the papal supremacy; when 
Mohammed was nursing at his mother’s breast; when old Beli- 
sarius was knocking right and left at his enemies ; this tree was 
sprouting into its small immortality of thirteen centuries! 














THE HALL OF COLUMNS AT KARNAC. 


/qjp) T has been well observed that next to the Pyramids, the Hall 
ko of Columns in the Temple-palace of Karnac, is the most won- 
derful relic of Egyptian art. From the inscriptions, we 
learn that it was founded some sixteen hundred years B. C., by 
Menepthah-Osiri I, father of Rameses the Great. Its area is 
three hundred and forty-one feet by one hundred and sixty-four. 
The massive stone roof was supported by one hundred and thirty- 
four giant columns, ranged in sixteen rows ; most of them are nine 
feet in diameter, and about forty-three in height. Those of the 
external avenue are eleven feet six inches in diameter, and seventy 
feet high. The architrave and roof were nearly a hundred feet in 
height. The diameter of the capitals at their widest spread, "was 

twenty-two feet. 

[ 486 ] 






















THE HALL OF COLUMNS. 487 

It is easy to detail the dimensions of this building, but no des¬ 
cription can convey an idea of its sublime effect. What massive 
grandeur in the vistas of these enormous pillars ; what scenic 
effect in the gradations of the chiaroscuro, and the gleamings of 
occasional lights, thrown with infinite skill of design athwart the 
aisles! And all these objects, walls, columns, architraves, ceilings, 
every surface exposed to the eye, were overspread with intaglio 
sculptures of gods and heroes and hieroglyphics, once painted in 
vivid colors, and many of them are now as bright as at the time 
cl their execution. Majestic in ruins, what must this edifice have 
been in its perfection ? 

And yet we are speaking only of a hall, an appendage of a 
single edifice. 

Egypt is indeed the land of architectural wonders! 





















THE POLAR REGIONS. 

HE history of Man upon the Sea. including his enterprise, 
his discoveries, and his disasters upon that element, would 
form a library of adventure, courage, vicissitude, and 
suffering, which would surpass all the tales of imaginary won¬ 
der and romance. The details of the attempts to discover a 
passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific, through the Arctic 
Ocean, would fill volumes of intensely interesting history. Hud¬ 
son, Button, Davis, Cook, in earlier days, and Ross, Parry, 
Franklin, and others more recently, have displayed among these 

frozen seas, a skill, daring, and perseverance in the highest degree 
[ 488 ] 


























heroic. The battles of chivalry, with knights clad in steel and 
monsters armed with magic, were on the land, where man is 
master : but these voyages were battles on the sea — the element 
which belongs to the tempest. They were in a climate which freezes 
the blood ; where water becomes rocks, and rocks mountains, which 
move on the surface of the waters ; where night often reigns for 
half the year; where strange meteors dance and whisper in the 
air ; where even the compass, the sailor’s appointed guide, forgets 
its allegiance, and dips and wanders as if drawn within the spell 
of an unseen and unknown god. It is in these regions, that these 
gallant men, shaming the chivalry of the middle ages, pursued 
their high career. 

Two of these, Hudson and Franklin, have given up their lives 
in these noble ventures. The fate of the latter has excited the 































490 THE POLAR REGIONS. 

sympathy of generous minds throughout the world. Jn 1845, he 
went in command of an expedition to pursue the route opened 
by the skillful and energetic Parry, a short time before. lie had 
two ships — the Erebus and Terror; he had one hundred and 
thirty-eight men, and provisions for four years. They entered 
the Polar Sea, and have never since been seen. 

After a time, great uneasiness was felt as to their fate. Sev¬ 
eral expeditions were dispatched from England in search of them. 
No tidings came, and uneasiness settled into anxiety; and there 
was one circumstance which gave this a romantic ardor : Lady 
Franklin’s devotion, her exertions, her appeals, her hope — that 
faltered not while others despaired — communicated to the public 
mind something of her own intensity of feeling in regard to the 
fate of her husband and his companions. The world looked on 
the lost Arctic adventurers, through her eyes and her heart. The 
electric spark came across the water, and kindled in generous 
souls on this side of the Atlantic. Grinnell fitted out an expedi¬ 
tion, and Kane accompanied it. It returned, and another followed, 
yet without success. The public know and feel at what cost, in 
the death of the lamented Kane, this latter service was rendered. 

To that we shall presently return. But we must say a few words 
more on a topic which passing events suggest. While we write, the 
news comes that the Maid of Saragossa is dead.* Her name was 
Augustina, to which was added, Of Zaragoza. When young she 
distinguished herself greatly in the memorable siege of Saragossa, 
by assisting the artillerymen in the very thickest of the fight, in 
firing on the French. The siege in question, prolonged to sixty- 
two days, ended by capitulation on the 20th of February, 1809, 
when the French, who had been commanded during its progress, 
by Marshals Lannes, Mortier, Moncey and Junot, entered the 
town. Readers of Cliilde Harold will recall the stanzas in which 

* She died and was buried at Ceuta, June, 1857. She was twenty-two at the 
time of tire siege, and she died at the age of seventy. She was made a sub-lieu¬ 
tenant, and received several decorations for her services. When Byron was at Se¬ 
ville, he often saw her on the Prado. 








THE POLAR REGIONS. 491 

Biron renders the name and fame of this heroine, immortal. We 
quote the poet’s description of her prowess : 

“Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, 

Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar. 

And all unsexed, the anlace hath espoused, 

Sung the loud song and dared the deed of war ? 

And she, whom once the semblance of a scar 
Appalled, and owlets ’larum chilled with dread, 

Now views the column-scattering bay’net jar, 

The falchion flash, and o’er the yet warm dead 
Stalks with Minerva’s step where Mars might quake to tread! 

11 \e who shall marvel when you hear her tale, 

Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, 

Marked her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, 

Heard her light, lively tones in lady’s bower, 

Seen her long locks that foil the painter’s power, 

Her fairy form, with more than female grace, 

Scarce would you deem that Saragossa’s tower 
Beheld her smile in Danger’s Gorgon face. 

Thin the closed ranks, and lead in glory’s fearful chase. 

“Her lover sinks — she sheds no ill-timed tear; 

Her chief is slain — she fills his fatal post; 

Her fellows flee — s.he checks their base career; 

The foe retires—she heads the sallying host: 

Who can appease like her a lover’s ghost? 

Who can avenge so well a leader’s fall ? 

What maid retrieve when man’s flushed hope is lost? 

Who hang so fiercely on the flying Gaul, 

Foiled by a woman’s hand, before a battered wall?” 

This remarkable instance of devotion to a noble sentiment, has 
been rivaled by two recent but still very different instances of 
heroism, both of which have found a fitting memorial in a late 
address delivered by Mr. Everett. 

“ Witness,” says lie, “ that heroic, ay, that angelic vestal, Flor¬ 
ence Nightingale, who beneath the eyes of admiring Europe 









492 THE POLAR REGIONS. 

and admiring Asia, walked, with serene unconcern, for more than 
a twelvemonth, the pestilential wards of a hospital; witness our 
not less heroic countrywoman Mary Patten, whose name is 
hardly known to the public, the wife of. a merchant shipmaster, 
who, far off on the lonely Pacific, with no eye to witness and no 
voice to cheer her, when her husband was taken down bv illness, 
now tended him in his cabin, as none but a devoted wife can tend 
a stricken husband ; now took his place on the quarter-deck of 
his forlorn vessel; took her observation every day with the sex¬ 
tant, laid down the ship’s, course on the chart, cheered and 
encouraged the desponding crew, arrested the mutinous chief 
mate, who was for creeping into the nearest port, and who, on 
the score of seamanship alone, was not worthy to kiss the dust 
beneath the feet of the lion-hearted little woman ; and who, poor 
young wife as she was, hardly twenty years of age, and already 
overshadowed with the sacred primal sorrow of her sex, yet with 
a strong will and a stout heart, steered her husband’s vessel 
through storm and through calm, from Cape Horn to San Fran¬ 
cisco ! ” 

These are the beautiful deeds of woman! And Lady Frank¬ 
lin’s heart was of that high order, which brings her into compan¬ 
ionship with these glories of her sex. Even yet she despairs not 
of her husband and his men. Dead to others, he is living to her. 
It was right that noble hearts should have been touched with 
something of her enthusiasm, especially as science and humanity 
joined in the feeling. It was worthy of Kane that he listened to 
the appeal. He has perished, but his fame is secure. The truthful 
words of the preacher, at his funeral* we may well record, as a 
fitting epitaph over his grave. 

“ Death discloses the human estimate of character. That mourn¬ 
ful pageant which for days past has been wending its way hither, 
across the ‘solemn main, along our mighty rivers, through cities 
clad in habiliments of grief, with the learned, the noble, and the 

* The funeral of Dr. Kane took place at Philadelphia, March 12, 1857, the sermon 
being preached by the Rev. C. W. Shields. 









THE POLAR REGIONS. 


493 


good mingling in its train, is but the honest tribute of hearts that 
could have no emotions but respect and love. To us belongs the 
sad privilege of at length closing the national obsequies in his 
native city, and at the grave of his kindred. Fittingly we have 
suffered his honored remains to repose a few pensive hours at the 
shi ine w here patriotism gathers its fairest memories and choicest 
honors. Now, at last, we bear them — thankful to the Providence 
by which they have been preserved from mishap and peril—to 
the sacred altar at which he was reared. 

“ I-do not forget, my friends, the severer solemnities of the place 
and presence. I remind you of their claim. How empty the 
applause of mortals as vaunted in the car of Heaven! How idle 
the distinctions among creatures involved in a common insm- 
nificance by death and sin! What a mockery the flimsy shows 
with which we cover up the realities of judgment and eternity ! 
The thought may well temper the pride of our grief, yet it need 
not stanch its flow. No, I should but feel that the goodness of 
that God, by whose munificent hand his creature was endowed, 
had been wronged, did we not pause to reflect awhile upon his 
virtues and drop some manly and Christian tears over his early 
grave. 

“Elisha Kent Kane —a name now to be pronounced in the 
simple dignity of history — was bred in the lap of science and 
trained in the school of peril, that lie might consecrate himself to 
a philanthropic purpose, to which, so young, he has fallen a mar¬ 
tyr. The story of his life is already a fire-side tale. Multitudes, 
in admiring fancy, have retraced its foot-prints. Now that that 
brief career is closed in death, we recur to it, with a mournful 
fondness, from the daring.exploits which formed the pastime of 
his youth, to the graver tasks to which he brought his developed 
manhoood. Though born to ease and elegance, when but a young 
student, used to academic tastes and honors, we see him breaking 
away from the refinements of life into the rough paths of privation 
and danger. Through distant and varied regions, we follow him 
in his pursuit of scientific discovery and adventure. On the 











494 THE POLAR REGIONS. 

borders of China—within the unexplored depths of the crater of 
Luzon—in India and Ceylon—in the islands of the Pacific — by 
the sources of the Nile—amid the frowning sphynxes of Egypt, 
and the classic ruins of Greece—along the fevered coast of Africa, 
on the embattled plains of Mexico—we behold him everywhere 
blending the enthusiasm of the scholar with the daring of the 
soldier and the research of the man of science. Yet these were 
but the preparatory trials through which Providence was leading 
him, to an object worthy of his matured powers and noblest aims. 
Suddenly he becomes a center of universal interest. With the 
prayers and hopes of his country following after him, he disap¬ 
pears from the abodes of men, on a pilgrimage of patience and 
love, into the icy solitudes of the North. Within the shadow of 
two sunless winters his fate is wrapped from our view. At length, 
like one come back from another world, he returns to thrill us 
with the marvels of his escape, and transport us, by his graphic 
pen, into scenes we scarcely realize as belonging to the earth 
we inhabit. All classes are penetrated and touched by the story 
so simply, so modestly, so eloquently told. The nation takes him 
to its heart with patriotic pride. In hopeful fancy, a still brighter 
career is pictured before him ; when, alas! the vision, while yet it 
dazzles, dissolves in tears. We awake to the sense of a loss 
which no cotemporary, at his age, could occasion ! ” 













THE FLY SIIOOTER. 


CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 



|E have already given numerous illustrations of the 
endowments of animals, but the subject is not yet ex¬ 
hausted. We have still before us, in the work from 
which we have already borrowed so largely on this subject, many 
curious views, suggestions, and anecdotes, which we think will 
amuse, if not surprise our readers. 


Instinct. 

There has been much learned discussion as to what that power 
or principle in animals, which we call instinct, really is. Some 
have supposed it an impulse which has its seat in the nervous sys¬ 
tem of the stomach. Addison considers it as the immediate 
direction of Providence, and such an operation of the Supreme 
Being as that which determines all the portions of matter to their 
proper center. He says, “ I look upon instinct as upon the princi¬ 
ple of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be explained by any 
known qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor form any 

[ 495 ] 





















































































496 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OP ANIMALS. 

laws of mechanism, but as an immediate impression from the first 
mover, and the divine energy acting in the creatures.” 

The more philosophical opinion is, that instinct is a principle 
of the mind, varying in its nature according to the wants of the 
various creatures on whom it is bestowed. In all animals there 
are the natural impulses of self-preservation and propagation. The 
object of migration is to secure self-preservation, subsistence, 
propagation ; building seeks to provide for protection of self 
and offspring ; concealment aims at the provision of food, and 
the securing of the nest or other shelter; combativeness arouses 
itself in self-defence, in seeking food, in the passions at the 
pairing time, in the protection of the young. These various 
movements appear in many cases to be instinctive, and in others, 
to be guided by something that partakes of reflection ; but where 
the first ends, or the latter begins, we cannot tell. Until we are 
able to define the nature of mind, we cannot trace the origin and 
nature of instinct. So much we can determine, that it is allied to 
mind, and with animals and man himself, is the guiding principle 
of life, until higher faculties are developed to supersede it. With 
all our philosophy, we can only trace its operations, we cannot 
penetrate its essence or its source. 

The endowment of instinct is manifest in the human species. 
The nursling seeks its mother’s breast, and the child stretches 
forth its hands when about to fall. In adults it is equally con¬ 
spicuous ; for although it is but dimly shadowed forth before the 
reason is developed and the mental faculties are expanded, and 
is always inferior to that of animals, yet it is ever active for pre¬ 
servation and protection'against bodily injury. It is an uncon¬ 
scious craving, which urges us to assuage the thirst of summer 
and of fever with acid drinks ; to seek one remedy and to refuse 
another. The sensations of fatigue or of excitement, impel us to 
take either rest or exertion. It is chiefly in the organs of motion 
that the effects of instinct are most prominent. We shudder in¬ 
voluntarily at any painful contact, and attempt to avoid it, even 
if it be only the momentary annoyance of an insect; we close the 










INSTINCT. 497 

eyelids against a too dazzling light, at the approach of any foreign 
object, against smoke and dust, and even against vapor and fog, 
The adult, like the child, stretches forth his arms to protect him¬ 
self when falling ; avc recover our balance by an inflection of the 
body ; and whether precipitated from a height, or falling into the 
water, we clutch at the first substance that presents itself. 

Instinct, as an inferior faculty of the mind, so indispensable to man 
in his uncivilized and infant state, ceases to assist him as manhood 
advances, and the mental powers acquire their full development; 
but it ever maintains its influence over the animal world, and by 
an inherent power, seems to direct creatures but newly born — 
when weak and helpless, without knowledge of means and ends, 
without instruction or experience, without practice or trial, when 
awakening into life, without the least consciousness of external 
nature — to the performance of the most wonderful actions. In¬ 
stinct guides them to their proper element, teaches them to avoid 
the ambush of enemies, and to preserve their ephemeral life from 
threatening and positive dangers, It prompts them to provide 
for their young, which in numberless instances they wall never see ; 
to build habitations, whose arrangements and construction aston¬ 
ish even the most indifferent observer, to wander over mountains 
and seas to distant hemispheres, whose nature is strange to them, 
and from which many never return. The goodness of Providence 
thus compensates them for the want of the higher intellectual attri¬ 
butes, and puts them in a position to fulfill the part assigned to 
them in the creation, in the most perfect, the easiest, and the suicst 
manner. 

The operation of instinct in .animals is exceedingly curious. 
Galen took a young kid the instant it was born, and before it 
saw its mother, and carrying it into a room, placed befoie it vine, 
oil, honey, milk, corn, and fruit. The little animal first got 
upon its legs, and shook and stretched itself: and presently, 
after smelling at the various articles, drank hcai tily of the milk. 
After some two months, different plants and lea\es wcie given to 
it, which it equally smelled, and refusing altogether some, it ate 
32 


















498 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF AMIMALS. 

of the others, and concluded by chewing the cud. A chicken 
which Wall had hatched by artificial heat, saw a spider, and 
springing at it, seized it as if from previous practice. Other chick¬ 
ens hatched by the same method, scratch the earth in search of 
food, in the same manner as those hatched and accompanied by a 
hen. 

The eggs of Asiatic and African singing-birds, have been 
hatched by the European goldfinch, and the young have preserved 
the song of their race, and, subsequently, adopted their mode of 
building. • Young ducks, reared under a hen, take to the water as 
soon as they arc hatched, obviously without any experience or 
prompting, to seek the proper food with which that element alone 
produces. Cuvier saw a young beaver, which had been brought 
up by a woman, carrying some sticks, from which it had eaten the 
bark, into a corner, and pile them together ; and on earth being 
given to it, it kneaded it together over the sticks in a compact 
form, and drove other sticks in at the top. Mimicry, one of the 
instincts of the monkey tribe, is often carried so far by these 
creatures, that they sacrifice their lives in pursuing it. 

The dealings of instinct are extremely complicated ; and if we 
watch the proceedings of only one insect, we cannot fail of being 
astonished at the series of combinations brought into play, as in 
the case of the spider, to procure its subsistence. All spiders are 
furnished at the extremity of the belly with four or six leaf-like 
protuberances, or spinners, each of which is furnished with a mul¬ 
titude of tubes, so numerous and exquisitely fine that, according 
to Reaumur, a space not bigger than the pointed end of a pin is 
furnished with a thousand of them. Hence from each spinner 
proceeds a compound thread, and at the distance of about one 
tenth of an inch from the point of the spinners, these threads again 
unite, and form the thread which we see, and which the spider 
makes use of in forming its web. Thus, a spider’s thread, even 
when so fine as almost to elude our senses, is not a single line, 
but a rope composed of at least four thousrnd strands. Of such 
tenuity, although placed beyond all doubt by Leuwenhoek’s 














TENACITY OF LIFE. 


499 



microscopical observations, our imagination is too faint to form 
even a conception : our faculties are indeed often overwhelmed 
by a consciousness of the imperfection of our senses, when used 
for the purpose of scrutinizing the works of nature. 

All instinct is innate, independent of experience, and abun¬ 
dantly bestowed on the young of every animal in proportion to 
its wants. In the higher order of animals it seems to be the 
initial point of intellectual action and the exercise of reason. In 
others it remains the same, with little or no improvement. The 
tame squirrel hoards up the food which it will never require nor 
touch ; tame ravens conceal morsels of food, though abundance is 
always before them ; fowls scratch for food on the paved surface 
of a yard. 

&enaritrr of 3Cifc. 

Among the lower animals this faculty is the most remarkable 
in the polypi; they may be pounded in a mortar, split up, turned 
















500 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 

inside out like a glove, and divided into parts, without injury to 
life ; fire alone is fatal to them. It is now about a hundred years 
since Trembley made us acquainted with these animals, and first 
discovered their indestructibility. The subject has subsequently 
been taken up by other natural historians, who have followed up 
these experiments, and have even gone so far as to produce mon¬ 
sters by grafting. If they be turned inside out, they attempt to 
replace themselves, and if unsuccessfully, the outer surface assumes 
the properties and powers of the inner, and the reverse. If the 
effort be partially successful only, the part turned back disappears 
in twenty-four hours in that part of the body it embraces, in such a 
manner that the arms which projected behind, are now fixed in 
the center of the body ; the original opening also disappears, and 
in the room of feelers, a new mouth is formed, to which new feelers 
attach themselves, and this new mouth feeds immediately! 

Crabs and lobsters reproduce lost members, and according to 
Menge, a slight injury, or the loss of a limb, does not necessarily 
entail death on spiders ; but, on the contrary, as long as they cast 
their skins, the lost feelers and joints are replaced, and to a 
perfect extent while the animal is yet young. 

Flies, found drowned in a cask of Madeira wine, revived ; and 
crickets, thrown into water, and allowed to remain for several 
days, were resuscitated by Geubel, who covered them with pul¬ 
verized chalk, and at the expiration of some hours, the palpi and 
antenna3 showed signs of life, and, finally, the insects entirely 
recovered their power, and flew off. Resuscitation has also 
occurred after they have been subjected to an elastic fluid, like 
nitrogen gas, and then exposed to the air ; and several species of 
the cerambyx, and many others of the coleopterous insects, recover 
after having been in spirits of wine for many hours. 

Some insects will live a long time after the loss of some import¬ 
ant portion of their bodies. A Cardbus granulatus has been seen 
to run without a head ; and a Cerceris , deprived of its head at 
the moment it was inserting itself into the cell of a bee, to deposit 
its eggs, continued its attempt, and turned back to it after it was 









TEMPERATURE. 501 

placed in an opposite direction. Crickets will live for a couple 
of days without heads, and will linger for several hours when 
deprived of their entrails ; and wasps will attempt to sting after 
their bodies are divided. 

Ascending higher in the animal world, we find that reptiles, 
and many species of fish, can endure the most violent injuries. 
Eels are proverbially difficult to kill ; and the shark preserves 
its vitality after every cruelty has been heaped upon it. 

The tenacious power of life in the frog, is beyond measure 
extraordinary ; it is neither affected by the exhaustion of an air- 
pump, nor destroyed when frozen into a solid n;ass. The Triton 
cristdtus has the power of reproducing parts and joints of which 
it has been deprived, and even an eye ; the tail and feet have been 
known to replace themselves six times in the course of one sum¬ 
mer, so that six hundred and eighty-seven new bones were pro¬ 
duced. If the Salamandra macolata be deprived of its head, the 
trunk remains standing on its feet, and turns on being touched. 
Tortoises, from which the brain has been abstracted, wander about 
for months with closed eyes, feeling their way, and have survived 
for twenty-three days without a head. Azara caught two without 
heads in a river in Paraguay, but they escaped backwards with as 
much speed and address, as if they had been uninjured! 

Samgerature. 

A conformable temperature is necessary to the existence of 
most animals. Although many live and enjoy themselves in 
the polar regions, and under ice, }*et the greatest number piefei 
warmth, and seek to protect themselves from variable tempera¬ 
ture, and especially from cold. Their construction is a great 
predisposing cause. Most of the plants in a mild climate aie 
smooth and bare in their stems, bark, and leaves, while those 
of cold and boisterous countries arc rough and hairy, and the 
same rule applies to animals: covering is indispensable to 

protection. 











502 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 

A peculiar property belongs to furred animals on the approach 
of inclement seasons, an increase, namely, in the fur, in propor¬ 
tion to the coldness of the region. The coat of the Norwegian 
horses is much longer than that of the German. Its continuance 
depends entirely on the length of the cold season ; thus, thu 
Alpine horses preserve their winter coats from six to seven 
months in Switzerland, from eight to nine in Norway, in Lapland 
ten months, and in Greenland throughout the year. According to 
Eichwald, the aurochs, or wild bull, still found, though rare, in 
the forests of Poland, acquires its new coat only a few days 
before the setting in of the winter, and loses it as rapidly on 
the first return of thaw. 

Insects are to be found in the greatest extremes. Reaumur 
and IJegeer found the larvee of gnats in ice. Captain Buchan 
saw a frozen lake which, in the evening, was still and hard, but as 
soon as the sun had dissolved the surface in the mornimj, it 
was in a state of animation, owing, as appeared on close inspection, 
to myriads of flies let loose, while many still remained fixed and 
frozen round. Ellis also mentions that a large black mass like 
coal or peat, dissolved, when thrown upon the fire, into a cloud of 
musketoes. Humboldt found beetles far above the line of perpet¬ 
ual snow, in the Cordilleras. Several springtails live on the 
snow, and impart to it a black or red color. On the other hand, 
Dr. Reeve found larvm, supposed to be those of the crane fly, in a 
hot spring, at 205° of Fahrenheit, and Perty discovered caddis 
larvae in a spring in Wales, at 150° of temperature. 

Among fish, the bream, it packed in snow, can be preserved 
alive tor a considerable time : and carp, after having been frozen 
so hard as to require the force of an ax to divide them, have 
i cco\ered on being thawed. Frogs and toads can endure a sur¬ 
prising degree of cold. Gaimard made repeated experiments on 
the latter in Iceland in the winter of 1828—’29, and found that 
they could be frozen so hard that the spaces between the muscles 
were filled with ice, that all functions ceased, and that they could 
be broken in pieces without exertion, and yet on being ex- 


















HYBERNATION. 


503 


posed to a warm temperature, they recovered their vitality in the 
space of ten minutes, and were perfectly lively. 

Many animals leave their accustomed haunts as the cold sets 
in. The chamois and ibex, which frequent the highest mountains, 
particularly those with a northern aspect, during the summer 
months, betake themselves in winter to the southern sides and the 
valleys; the stag, the roe, and the reindeer, leave also the ele¬ 
vated land for sheltered plains and coverts, and in extreme cold 
even approach human habitations. Birds, too, under similar 
circumstances, seek the same shelter, and seem ta claim the pro¬ 
tection of man. 

The northern birds wing their way to the south, and many 
mammalia shift their quarters ; the seal leaves Greenland and 
Spitzbergen for the shores of Iceland ; the bison, the American 
black bear, and the kulan, or wild ass of Tartary, wander north¬ 
wards in summer, and southwards in winter. 

Some animals avail themselves of the means offered them by 
man to protect themselves, and others seek his presence for the 
purpose. Snakes, in the East, are often found coiled up under the 
coverings of beds, and even on the bodies of people asleep ; and 
cats, which can bear vicissitudes of temperature, prefer warmth, 
and nestle willingly in beds. Monkeys will fetch of themseb cs 
the blanket appropriated to them, and dogs scrape and arrange 
their straw, so as to secure the greatest warmth. 


Dnbcrmttioir. 

Hybernation is the means by which animals are enabled to 
avoid the susceptibilities to which they are subject, from the 
variations of temperature: the action of life ceases in the outwaid 
parts, and maintains so faint a hold in the inward, that it is 
altogether suspended, and in the vegetable world it sinks even to 
a lower degree. Animals in this state, and rolled up so as to 
retain as much as possible of their own warmth, are enabled 
to endure the extremities of cold. Snails hybernate in holes and 






















504 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 

crevices with a southern aspect, the opening of the shell being 
closed up with a strong chalk-like covering or operculum ; and 
worms become torpid, after having penetrated to the depth of 
three or four feet in the earth, at the close of the autumn ; but, 
as soon as the earth is released by the thaw, and is softened by the 
mildness and warmth of spring, they appear on the surface in vast 
numbers. 

Most of the time spiders pass the winter in a benumbed state in 
holes and in the crevices of trees; and the hunter spider spins 
itself a little bag, which it closes at both ends in some secure 
shelter. Most insects hybernate, leaving their accustomed haunts 
towards the close of autumn, and seek well-sheltered spots, under 
stones and moss, under the bark, and in the decayed wood of trees, 
in the depth of the earth, and, like the water-beetles, in the slime 
of marshes. Many which live in communities, hybernate also, 
together, as if thereby to increase the temperature. 

Fish withdraw chiefly into the depths at the approach of win¬ 
ter, and many bury themselves in the mud, rising occasionally to 
the surface, and to holes in the ice in frozen streams, to breathe. 

Lizards hybernate in cavities and holes in the earth, and frogs 
conceal themselves in the mud ; and snakes and tortoises make 
subterranean retreats, the latter, particularly, digging for them¬ 
selves holes, and covering themselves by a laborious process. 

Of all the varieties of instinct, hybernation is one of the most 
wonderful. Dr. Virey remarks suggestively, on the subject, “ is it 
anything else but the manifestation, without, of that same wisdom 
which directs, in the interior of our body, all our vital functions ? ” 


d'ornt mtb Color. 

Both of these are the effect of plastic life, and independent 
of the animals themselves ; and, as in abundant instances, they 
assimilate with those of surrounding objects, animals are thereby, 
enabled to escape the search of their enemies. This is particu¬ 
larly the case with insects, many of which repose on those sub- 

































FORM AND COLOR. 505 



TIIE JERBOA. 


stances which bear the greatest resemblance in color to their own 
bodies. Thus, moths settle by day on the stems of trees, from 
whose gray and mottled bark they are not easily to be distin¬ 
guished. The green grasshopper is with difficulty seen on the 
grass, and the brown ones, and crickets, harmonize in color with 
the parched plants of the heath. 

Among fish, the frog-fish, the sole, and other flat fish, arc not to 
be distinguished from the mud on which they lie. 

The caterpillar of a moth is said to assume the color of the 
lichens upon which it feeds, being gray when it feeds on a gray 
one, and always yellow when it feeds on a yellow one. The 
caterpillar of the coronet moth, which feeds upon the privet, 
is so exactly of the color of tlie underside of the leaf, to which 
it usually clings during the day, that a person may have the leaf 
in his hand without discovering the caterpillar. It would not be 
difficult to enumerate many other examples; in some instances 
the protection is carried much further, for many of the caterpil¬ 
lars which feed on green leaves resemble in color the gray or 






























50G CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 

brown bark of the branches where they usually rest when not 
feeding. 

The surprising wisdom of these and similar arrangements in the 
economy of nature, points clearly to the hand of a beneficent 
Creator, which is stretched forth even over the most defenceless 
of his creatures. 

pohfs of ©scape from ganger. 

Most animals escape danger by fleeing from it. Birds and 
insects have wings to aid them, not only in pursuing their prey 
and performing their migrations, but in escaping from their 
enemies. The various modes by which rapid locomotion is at¬ 
tained in quadrupeds, are amazing evidences of the wisdom and 
resources of the creative power. What a difference between the 
mechanism of the deer, the hare, and the jerboa, all noted for 
speed, and relying upon speed for preservation from danger. 

But difference of structure is not the only source of diversity in 
the means of escape, among the animal tribes. The cuttle fish 
blackens and poisons the water, so as to blind and sicken his 
pursuers; while the polecat and skunk, make the air intolerable 
to those who intrude upon them. Several species of bugs, also, 
render themselves unapproachable, by bathing themselves in 
abominable odors. The torpedo is provided with an electrical 
battery; the bees, Avasps, and hornets, with stings; the adders, 
and other serpents, with deadly poison: all as means of defence, 
and in some cases, also, as the instruments of securing their prey. 

Artifices, ;tnb ifise of Natural (UAcapoits. 

Many animals keep themselves motionless, and counterfeit death, 
in times of danger. The centipede, when touched, twists itself 
together ; and the large hairy caterpillar of the tiger moth, rolls 
itself up, and slips through the fingers of the hand that seizes it. 
The common rose beetle extends its legs, and assumes altogether 













ARTIFICES AND WEAPONS. 5<)7 



v 


the appearance of death ; the pillchafer, on die other hand, con¬ 
tracts its legs, and may be mistaken for a ball of sheep’s dung. 
Other insects let themselves fall among the grass, where they 
cannot be distinguished from the soil. The spider, if he cannot 
escape, rolls himself into a ball, and seems without life. The 
death-watch counterfeits death so obstinately, that it allows itself 
to be mutilated, to be torn limb from limb, to be pierced, and 
even roasted, without change of posture. 

Among fish, the captured sturgeon remains quiet and passive in 
the net, while the perch feigns death and floats on its back ; the 
carp thrusts itself into the mud, in order that the net may pass 
over it, or it makes prodigious springs to clear it, if the bottom 
be stony. 

Many birds crouch close and motionless on the ground when a 
human being approaches them, without making an effort to escape 
by flight. Thus the quail thrusts its head between the clods of 
earth, and avoids detection, from its great similarity in color to 


































508 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 

the soil; in this state, if perceived, it will allow itself to be 
seized. The goatsucker, as it sits crouched on the branch of a 
tree, is not to be distinguished from the bark ; the ptarmigan and 
willow-grouse nestle motionless on the surface of the snow, and 
cannot be readily perceived. 

The squirrel, when pursued, flies to the highest tree, climbing 
up the side interposed to the sportsman, and clings with com¬ 
pressed body to the stem. In the same manner, the wild cat and 
the fox save themselves by extending themselves suddenly among 
the fallen leaves, or on a broken trunk in a thicket, till the chase 
has passed by them. A similar artifice is resorted to by the 
opossum ; and it is recorded that tigers, bruised and wounded by 
the elephant, have counterfeited death, to avoid further punish¬ 
ment. 

Crabs and lobsters have powerful weapons, both offensive and 
defensive, in their claws. The land-crabs of the Bahamas, when 
terrified, run back in a confused and disorderly manner, holding 
up and clattering their nippers with a threatening attitude, and if 
they are suffered to catch hold of the hand, they will sometimes 
tear off a piece of the skin. Sea-crabs arc naturally quarrelsome, 
and have serious contests together, by means of their formidable 
claws, with which they lay hold of their adversary’s legs, and 
wherever they seize, it is not easy to make them forego their hold. 

The animal seized has, therefore, no alternative but to leave part 
of the leg behind in token of victory. A crab, when irritated, 
and made to seize one of its own small claws with a large one, 
does not distinguish that it is itself the aggressor, but exerts its 
strength, and cracks the shell of the small claw. Feeling itself 
wounded, it casts off the piece in the usual place, but continues to 
retain the hold with the great claw for a long time afterwards. 

Some insects are extremely pugnacious, and even display a 
spirit of cannibalism towards each other. To make two male 
crickets fight, the Chinese place them in an earthen bowl, about 
six or eight inches in diameter. The owner of each tickles his 
cricket with a feather, which makes them both run round the 










ARTIFICES AND WEAPONS. 509 

bowl different ways, frequently meeting and jostling One another 
as they pass. After several meetings in this way, they at length 
become exasperated, and fight with great fury, until they literally 
tear each other limb from limb. 

The feet, the bill, and the wings, are the weapons of defence of 
biid», and, among the predaceous tribes, they are of immense 
power and importance. Le Vaillaint tells us that he was 
witness to an engagement between the secretary falcon and a 
serpent. Ihe battle was obstinate, and conducted with equal 
address on both sides. Cut the serpent at length feeling the in¬ 
feriority of its strength, employed in its attempt to gain its hole, 
all the cunning which is attributed to its tribe; while the bird, 
apparently guessing its design, stopped it on a sudden, and cut off 
its retreat, by placing himself before it at a single leap. On 
whatever side the reptile endeavored to make its escape, its enemy 
still appeared before it. Then, uniting at once bravery and cun¬ 
ning, the serpent erected itself boldly to intimidate the bird ; and, 
hissing dreadfully, displayed its menacing throat, inflamed eyes, 
and a head swollen with rage and venom. Sometimes this 
threatening appearance produced a momentary suspension of 
hostilities; but the bird soon returned to the charge, and, cover¬ 
ing his body with one of his wings as a buckler, struck his 
enemy with the bony protuberance of the other. He saw it at 
last stagger and fall ; the conqueror then fell upon it to dispatch 
it, and with one stroke of his bill laid open its skull. 

To detail the various devices resorted to by animals to obtain 
food, would require a volume. Some of them set traps, as the 
ant lion ; the spider spreads nets, the cats lie in wait, the fox 
steals in by night, the falcons pounce on their prey. The fly- 
shooter, of Java, is a real hunter, and using his mouth for a gun, 
his breath for powder, and a drop of water for a bullet, takes an 
unerring aim and brings down his prey. Thus we find in a fish 
the only instance in the animal kingdom of the use of a propulsive 
weapon, analogous to the destructive engines of man, from the 
bow and arrow to the cannon. 











510 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 



WALRUS ATTACKED BY ESQUIMAUX. 


In connection with this subject, St. Pierre conveys a happy 
illustration of the adaptation of animals to the provision which 
Providence has made for feeding them. “ The sluggish cow. 
says he, u pastures in the cavity of the valley ; the bounding sheep 
on the declivity of the hill ; the scrambling goat browses among 
the shrubs of the rocks ; the hen, with attentive eye, picks up 
every grain that is lost in the field ; the pigeon, on rapid wing, 
collects a similar tribute from the refuse of the grove: and the 
frugal bee turns to account even the small dust on the flower : 
there is no part of the earth where the whole vegetable crop may 
not be reaped. Those plants which are rejected bv one, are a 
delicacy to the other ; and even among the finny tribes contribute 
to their fatness. The hog devours the horse-tail and hen-bane: 
the goat, the thistle and the hemlock. All return in the eveninc 




















ARTIFICES AND WEAPONS. 511 

to the habitation of man, with murmurs, with bleatings, with cries 
of joy, bringing back to him the delicious tribute of innumerable 
plants, transformed by a process the most inconceivable, into 
honey, milk, butter, eggs, and cream.” 

The care of animals for their young, also draws forth the most 
wonderful instincts and powers. Insects deposit their eggs in 
spots where they will be safely hatched. All spiders enclose their 
eggs in a web, and many of them in a cocoon. The earwig 
hatches her eggs with the assiduity of a lien. Some fishes ascend 
rivers thousands of miles, and shoot up falls and cataracts, to 
deposit their spawn beyond the reach of those which would devour 
them. In the case of the Surinam toad, the female drops her eggs 
on the ground; they are then gathered up by the male, placed in 
receptacles provided on the back of the mother, where they are 
hatched. The rattlesnake swallows her young ones in time of 
danger, and throws them out when the emergency is past. Many 
birds flutter as if wounded, before a man, dog, or cat, so as to 
withdraw them from her nest, or her young. The elaborate 
ingenuity of birds in building their nests, the patience with which 
they hatch their eggs,. and their devotion in feeding them, have 
always excited the admiration of observing and reflecting minds. 

The walrus, an uncouth animal, living in the chill waters of the 
polar regions, seems to bo the very personification of stupidity ; 
and yet we are told that the affection of these creatures for their 
young is truly affecting. Captain Cook tells us the following 
incident, which occurred in his last voyage, when he was return¬ 
ing from Behring’s Straits : 

“ In the afternoon we hoisted out the boats, and sent them in 
pursuit of the sea-horses that silrrounded us. Our people were 
more successful than they had been before, returning with three 
large ones, and a young one. The gentlemen who went on this 
party, were witnesses of several remarkable instances of parental 
affection in these animals. On the approach of our boats towards 
the ice, they all took their cubs under their tins, and endeavored 
to escape with them into the sea. Several whose young w r ere 










512 CURIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF ANIMALS. 

killed and wounded, and were left floating on the surface, rose 
again and carried them down, sometimes just as our people were 
going to take them into the boat; and they might be traced bear¬ 
ing them to a great distance through the water, which was colored 
with their blood. We afterwards observed them up at times 
above the surface, as if for air, and again diving under it, with a 
dreadful bellowing. The female, in particular, whose yqung had 
been destroyed and taken into the boat, became so enraged that 

V 

she attacked the cutter, and stuck her tusks through the bottom 
of it.” 

Even the ponderous whale shows a similar devotion to its off¬ 
spring. Many instances have been recorded by navigators, in 
which the mothers have sacrificed their own lives to save their 
young ones, and cases have happened in which whales, in revenge 
for the capture of their calves, have rushed madly upon the ships 
which they deemed the cause of their distress and reduced them 
to a state of wreck. 

























































































































































